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UNITED STATES OF AMEBIC A. 



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xlIISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS 



OF THE LATE 



SAMUEL J. SMITH, 



OF BURLINGTON, N. J. 



Collccteti unt} Sti-vanattj l)i) ©n'cof tfje j^amili). 



WITH A NOTICE ILLUSTRATIVE OF HIS LIFE AND CHARACTEn. 



' Not a beauty blows, 



And not an op'ning blossom breatl^es, in vain." 



rillLADELPHIA : 

HENRY PERKINS, 134 CHESTNUT STREET. 

BOSTON : 
I'ERKINS & MARVIN, 114 WASHINGTON STREET. 

1836. 



T^ 






Entered, according to the act of congress, in the year 1836, by Henky 
Perkins, in the clerk's office of the district court for the eastern district 
of Pennsylvania. 



A. WALDIE, PR. 



J^fJ^t 



CONTENTS. 



Biographical Sketch, 

An Indian Eclogue, . 

The Bachelor, .... 

Stanzas, • . . . 

Hymn, • . . . . 

On Dress— To the Ladies, 

A Love Letter, .... 

To the Memory ofVl^m. Livingston, LL. D., 

On seeing a Wren in the midst of Winter, 

The Case of Amanda, 

The Twenty-Fifih Psalm, 

The Genius of * * * « To 

To , . 

To the Wife of , 

An Elegy, 

Eulogium on Rum, 

The Bee, 

Margery Gray, 

Courtship, 

A Morning Hymn, . 

Some Account of My Neighbour Ephraim, 

For an Album, 

Peter's Ride to the Wedding, 

Reflections, ..... 

Stanzas, ...... 

To A, B, C, & CO. . . . ' 

To a Toad in a Strawberry Bed, 

To my Trees, • . . . 

Scraps from my Port Folio, 

Lines, written in the Album of a Young Friend, 

On a Picture of a Child falling from a Boat into the Water, 

Another Illustration of the same Subject, 

For a Winter Scene on a Farm, .... 



29 



5L 53, 54. 56, 



Page 
9 
31 
33 
35 
36 
38 
43 
46 
50 
57.59 
63 
66 
69 
73 
76 
80 
84 
86 
91 
93 
94 
146 
147 
149 
153 
155 
159 
160 
162 
173 
J 74 
175 
176 



CONTENTS. 



For an Autumnal Scene, 

For a Ship under full sail, 

On reading Wordsworth's " Excursion," 

Scraps ; or, a Page from my Port Folio, 

For an Album, 

Woman, . 



Lines, written extempore, for a 

her Squirrel," 
Stanzas, 
For an Album, 
My Spectacles, 
Written in an Album, 
Paraphrase of Luke x. 42, 
To J. and H. C. B , 



Child who asked for an " Epitaph on 



Paraphrase of Psalm xxxi. 2, 3 — Is 

Flowers, . 

Locomotives, 

Scraps from my Port Folio, 

Fragment, ...... 

Lines, suggested by a recent visit to " Hickory Grove," 



saiah xxxii. 2 — Rev. xviii. 10, 



Page 
177 
178 
180 
187 
190 
191 

192 
193 
195 
197 
203 
205 
206 
208 
210 
213 
216 
219 
221 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 



When those who have been distinguished for their in- 
tegrity, and whom Providence has blessed with superior 
talents, are removed to another state of existence, the fruits 
of those talents, and the example of that integrity, in some 
cases, become properly the portion of their fellow beings ; 
and in the hope that an humble sketch of the character 
of one who did " good by stealth," and sought not the 
voice of fame, may not be unacceptable, the following 
brief memoir is, with diffidence, presented to the public. 

The late Samuel J, Smith was descended from a family 
living in Yorkshire, England, in 1593, some of whom 
emigrated to this country, and were among the early 
settlers in New Jersey. For several generations they were 
employed in civil offices during the colonial government, 
though, as members of the religious society of Friends, 
their principles forbade their taking an active part in the 
conffict which severed these States from their parent stem. 
His grandfather, Samuel Smith, the author of the '• History 
of New Jersey, written in 1765, (the only standard history 
of that state,) tilled the office of treasurer while it was a 
2 



10 

province, under George III. ; and subsequently, he and his 
two sons were usefully engaged as able members in the 
legislative councils of the state. Joseph, the elder, was 
early married to a daughter of Samuel Burling, an amiable 
woman, of acute understanding and pleasing manners ; and 
settling on a farm about nine miles from the city of Burling- 
ton in New Jersey, their son Samuel, the subject of the 
present memoir, was there born, in the autumn of the year 
1771. His mother was taken from him by death when he 
was scarcely two years old, and leaving no other child to 
share with him the affection of his father, he became the 
absorbing object of his doting fondness. Although a man 
of strong and cultivated mind, and so distinguished for the 
soundness of his judgment as to be frequently resorted to 
by strangers for counsel and direction, yet he suffered pater- 
nal affection so far to predoininate, as almost to unnerve 
his hand and disqualify him for the exercise of wholesome 
discipline in early childhood, even when a looker-on might 
perhaps have deemed the occasion an imperative call for it. 
The darling, almost the idol, of the family, not only from 
his father but from every individual of it he found unbound- 
ed indulgence in his childish whims. From his earliest 
years he loved retirement ; and, resisting every effort to 
bring him into company, this love acquired strength and 
grew with his growth, till habit had confirmed a predilec- 
tion which, perhaps, a different education might have 
overcome. Even at this early period he gave evidence of 
more than common quickness of perception, firmness of 
purpose, and promptitude of action ; together with a 
strong will, which, as might be supposed, was under 



11 

but little restraint. While thus, in the morning of life, 
wearing the reins almost upon his own neck, the preserv- 
ing hand of Providence conducted him through its perils 
in safety. When it wa& judged proper to send him to 
school, and he had been brought by arguments, persuasions 
and bribes, to the point of passive submission ; his grand- 
father at length, as he flattered himself, deposited him 
safely there, and, well pleased with the achievement, had 
hardly returned, when he found the young pupil had 
escaped; and as he has himself said in his "Address to 
A, B, C &. Co." he was indeed — " at home as soon as he 
was !" Nor were their subsequent endeavours to give him 
the rudiments of education, by the common course of pub- 
lic or private instruction, attended with much better success. 
As well might they have attempted to lure the young 
partridge from his fields, and teach him the sober habits of 
domestic fowls, as to confine this untamed spirit within the 
walls of a school-room, to initiate him in the dull routine 
of commonplace study there. With a natural difiidence, 
approaching to shyness and reserve, the company of boys 
of his own age offered no attraction ; and, accustomed 
to depend upon himself for amusement, while rambhng 
at large on his father's farm, the vast field of nature 
was his school, and the God of nature became his effec- 
tual teacher, in shedding the rich dew of his grace on 
his young heart, and directing its early aspirations to 
Himself 

Though he was regularly entered, the whole time passed 
at public school, at intervals, amounted but to a few 



12 



months. Yet, while his father yielded to this aversion, 
rather than compel his attendance, the principles of mo- 
rality and reli^^ion were implanted in his mind with assi- 
duous care, which taking deep root, with the Divine bless- 
ing produced an abundant harvest. 

His father had formed a second connexion in marriage, 
with a sensible and amiable woman, (a sister of the late 
well-known and respected Dr. Thomas C. James, of Phila- 
delphia.) But this produced no change in the family 
management with respect to the young poet. The gentle, 
yielding temper of his stepmother required of him no 
sacrifice of his inclination, and they had no other child to 
divide with him their tenderness. Though living thus in 
the retirement of the country, without any companion of his 
own age, yet a consciousness of deficiency soon awakened 
a spirit of emulation, which acted as a sufficient stimulus ; 
and, with a determined will to instruct himself, and little 
aid from any teacher, he acquired, at a much earher age 
than usual, the elementary parts of a good education; and 
by application soon surmounted every difficulty in the first 
steps to the fair fields of intellectual cultivation. A taste for 
literature once acquired, it was pursued with eager delight ; 
his powerful mind took in, almost at a glance, the subject 
presented to it, and soon penetrated through all its intricacies. 
With the advantage also of a strong memory, he retained 
so perfect a knowledge of what he had once read, as rarely 
to give it a second perusal. Possessing a good library, and 
seizing with avidity on every book within his reach, the 
flowers that grew in the regions of imagination and poetry 



13 



were congenial to his taste, in his juvenile years. In later 
life he used to remark, that the works of fiction which at 
the former period passed current were, with few exceptions, 
trash beneath contempt. His mind a luxuriant soil, in which 
sprang up spontaneously the richest flowers of fancy and of 
feeling, he loved to "converse with his own thoughts." Ac- 
customed to think for himself, when he believed it right to 
pursue any object, prompt and energetic exertion was the 
immediate result of such conviction. He had believed that 
a child, by being conversant with the best authors, might 
attain a sufficient knowledge of grammar to speak and 
write correctly without submitting to the drudgery of a 
regular study of its rules ; and, however erroneous this 
conclusion might be in general practice, he verified its 
truth in his own example, for his writing and conversation 
combined accuracy, strength, and gracefulness. 

The following passages from some of his early letters to 
the late Thomas C. James, M. D., of Philadelphia, (which 
were kindly furnished by the family of the latter,) may 
serve as a specimen of his style at that time. Similarity of 
taste, as well as family connexion, had united them in 
close bonds of friendship; and he afterwards expressed a 
grateful sense of the kindness of the doctor, who was by 
several years his senior, in bestowing so much time and 
pains in cultivating a correspondence with him in his early 
youth. 



14 

« Burlington, Nov. 28th, 1784. 



" My Dear Friend, 



" I congratulate thee on thy new profession, * * 

* * * * ; but perhaps I, immured 

in the regions of solitude, cannot discern those graces in 
physic, which to the more refined eye of a polished citizen 
are perfectly visible. I must beg a moment which is not 
employed at Doctor's Hall, for the perusal of the following 

journal of a day. 

******* 

" If thou hast any entertaining book at hand, by sending 
it thou wilt very much oblige thine affectionately, 

"Sam'l J. Smith. 
" P.S. — Pray send me a Latin grammar." 



1785. 



-"I hope to find a good deal of amusement in the 



perusal of the pamphlet, as I have plenty of leisure minutes, 
but they are by no means dull, for I am of a cast of those 
who can relish an entertaining book as much in private, as 
others do the noise and bustle of city life. 

' Of ancient writ, unlock the learned store, 
Consult the dead, and live past ages o'er.' 

" Thou need not be so very cautious, for I turned 



critic merely for want of something better to write upon, 
and I hope thou wilt not apply to me — 



15 

' Some have at first for wits, then poets pass'd, 
Turned critics next, and proved plain fools at last.' " 

" Hickory Grove, Sept. 5th, 1785. 

" These groves first saw me try my tender wing. 
They saw me, trembling, strike the tuneful string ; 
Plain artless nature taught my lines to flow, 
Unknown to beauty, as devoid of show ; 
Be not surprised, then, at this want of art. 
The genuine dictates of the simplest heart. 

" These shades could ever yield some joy to me, 
But doubly pleasing, since approved by thee ; 
For now new music sounds in all our groves, 
New charms disclosing, for my friend approves. 
Oft have I sat beneath the cooling shade, 
And fondly waited inspiration's aid ; 
Or racked my hard-bound, dull, and barren brains, 
With imitating thy melodious strains, 
In vain : alas ! I find no muses there, 
And emulation 's darkened by despair. 
Perhaps e'en now thy vigorous fancy roves 
Through the bright mazes of Parnassian groves ; 
While I, dark groping o'er a humbler hill, 
Admire the murmurs of yon winding rill ; 
Or sauntering idly up the shady road, 
(The path my friend so oft with pleasure trod, 
While Phoebus setting glanced along the green,) 
Enjoy the beauties of the evening scene, 



16 

And as the landscape charms, my artless tongue 
Breaks out in ends of verse and scraps of song. 

" O sacred Nature ! undefiled by art, 
What heavenly feelings can thy charms impart : 
Let new-spun coxcombs daily come from France, 
Let grey-haired matrons learn to play and dance — 
Here let me live, till Death's stern sovereign call. 
Alike unenvied, and unenvying all ; 
And as my pleasures, passions, all give way. 
Sink to the grave by unperceived decay : 
There unregretted, undistinguished, rot, 
' The world forgetting, by the world forgot.' " 

" Hickory Grove, '86. 

" I think it is not unamusing to peruse the diiferent 

apologies of authors upon appearing in print. Shenstone, 
if I remember right, ridicules every mode, and still leaves 
the matter in the dark — Johnson says a friendly letter is a 
cool and deliberate performance, composed in the stillness 
of solitude and retirement. But the truth (in my humble 
opinion at least) is, that those in retirement are apt to 
resign themselves up to a habit of indolence, especially 
with regard to writing. The speaking of retirement recalls 
to my remembrance a curious story recorded in Bacon's 
collection of Apophthegms : — An old rat, being dissatisfied 
with the world, retired into his hole, and forbade, upon the 
severest penalties, any one to approach him ; at length 
one, more bold than the rest, ventured down, and found 
the old gentleman sitting very contentedly in the midst of 
a rich Parmesan cheese." 



17 



" ' The brittle forest clad in silver frost, 
Its beauty withered and its verdure lost,' 
Can preach more strongly to the pensive eye, 
Than long dull volumes on morality." 

" A rival's fame to those who write, 
Ne'er fails to bring a hippish sprite. 
Whether they waste their precious time 
In scribbling sleepy prose or rhyme. 
For sooner shall a lawyer shun sense. 
And lose a fee, for sake of conscience ; 
Sooner the healing tribe regret 
A sickly season damp and wet. 
Than he who toils for crown of bays 
With pleasure hear another's praise." 

"As to poor Pegasus, I had almost forgot that there 
was such a horse ; however I am much obliged to thee for 
mentioning him, and thereby putting me in mind of a 
request I formerly made that thou would take the trouble 
to burn every scrawl of poetry bearing my name, in thy 
possession ; by doing which thou wilt greatly and truly 
oblige me. For I am determined that before Pegasus gets 
a new coat, his old one shall be destroyed, at least to the 
utmost of my power. * « * * 

" All the common topics proper for an epistle have been 

so often discussed, that they are as difficult to manage as 

Robinson Crusoe's long boat. This scrawl was not produced 

(believe me) without labour both of mind and body. Now 

3 



18 

confess I am honest, I might as easily have said 'I 
snatched a leisure moment, (fcc. &c. &c.' and as an excuse 
for so doing, plead the example of divers eminent persons ; 
yea, even the makers of verses in this our day endeavour 
and labour exceedingly to convince the reader that they 
write for their amusement, alias satisfaction, only." 

" I cannot believe that the tinder placed by nature in a 
poet's mind is wholly erased from that of my friend. But 
why put off writing till nature puts on her smiling robe ? 
I cannot conceive that one is more able to write at one 
time than at another. Inclination may certainly be greater 
at some times than at others, and I should imagine it to be 
greater in the winter than at other seasons. In the winter 
there are few outward objects pleasing enough to attract 
attention ; the mind retires inward, and is pleased with 
recollections, reflection, and description. 

" I am entirely of thy opinion with respect to the pur- 
poses to which poetry should properly be applied. It may 
promote the interest of morality and virtue, and be made 
subservient to religion and the happiness of mankind ; and 
we have only to regret that it has not oftener been directed 
to such noble purposes. Young and Watts have indeed 
succeeded in sacred poetry, but their example will not 
warrant or excuse the attempts of others. Truths so 
sublime are rather degraded than exalted by the poetical 
garb." 

" Prose composition is certainly more useful than 
poetry, but poetry is not only more pleasing to the reader 



19 

(if it is good) but more easy to the writer, at least I think 
so. As to Dr. Frankhn's opinion of poetry, not all the 
Frankhns 'twixt this and Lilliput can make me alter my 
opinion. The doctor may be a great philosopher and 
politician, but (with submission) I conceive he is not a 
judge of poetry. 

"My mother has written to-day, and I suppose told 

you the old story, that we are all well, the cow excepted 

formerly mentioned, who seems to be, I don't know how ; 

but it is pretty plain she wants the doctor here, and so do I. 

" Thine sincerely, S. J. S." 

" Hickory Grove, '87. 
" My Dear Friend, 
»«•••♦* 

" This letter is hke a rag carpet, made up one scarcely 

knows of what — there is a simile ! which if I had time and 

genius, and a good pen and darker ink, I could enlarge 

upon, and by much handling, and traveling about it and 

about it, would make it as smooth and shining as that 

dog's black ear, that's sleeping on the floor : 

' In works of wit, the critics all agree 
That nothing tickles like a simile.' " 

'87. 
''It is my solid opinion that J. T. &c. would recruit 
much sooner if they were here, where they might smell 
the wounded bosom of mother earth, commonly called 
ploughed ground ; at least they would do better any where 
than in that dismal hive of doleful beings, yclept a city. 
" Thine sincerely, Samuel J. Smith." 



20 

His father had removed to reside upon his patrimonial 
estate, Hickory Grove, a mile from the city of Burlington, 
in New Jersey, when his son was not more than four years 
of age. He had grown up in its shades, and had ample 
scope for the pursuit of his favourite employments. He 
was not only an excellent theoretic, but a good practical 
farmer : cultivating his ground with judicious care, and 
watching over his horses, his cattle, his flocks of poultry, 
and every living animal within his jurisdiction, with a 
humane and tender attention to their accommodation and 
pleasure, which often led him to sacrifice his own ; with, 
perhaps, an over solicitude that they should not be sub- 
jected to hard usage, and that nothing might be omitted 
which could promote their comfort. Delighting in his agri- 
cultural avocations, as affording the best field for tracing 
the hand of a beneficent Creator in his vegetable and ani- 
mal kingdoms ; and possessing a fortune sufficient to enable 
him to furnish employment, and the means of living, to 
many of the poor in his neighbourhood, he dispensed the 
blessing with a liberality equalled only by the delicacy 
with which he bestowed his bounty. For this noble kind 
of generosity, which retires from observation, he was 
remarkable. His munificent acts were of so frequent recur- 
rence, that on the writer asking his housekeeper to relate 
some instances of them, she answered, " they could not 
be mentioned — they were continual." 

In tracing the history of an individual whose writings 
have interested us, we naturally wish to know something 
of the form in which this mind was clothed. 



21 

In person he was of the common size ; with a pecuHar 
expression of sweetness and benevolence, his whole coun- 
tenance was enlightened by a look of animated intelligence, 
which varied with every changing emotion, and could 
scarcely fail to attract the attention of a stranger, as 
belonging to no common character. While dwelling in 
the seclusion of his beloved Hickory Grove, his mind, 
with a rapidity which always marked its movements, 
embraced every subject of general interest, whether literary, 
moral, civil or political. His vicinity to Burlington, and 
easy communication with Philadelphia, furnished him 
with the opportunity of readily obtaining supplies of books, 
and receiving nearly all the best periodical publications; 
the din of men was thus heard in his retreat, and he 
possessed a general knowledge of what was passing in 
the world around him — a world which he had shut out, 
though with a heart glowing with the warmest feelings of 
genuine philanthropy towards the whole human family, and 
desirous of contributing to their comfort in any way. ex- 
cept by giving them his society. And yet those who would 
dispense with the ceremony of a formal or particular in- 
vitation, and the return which custom requires, and would 
take the trouble to make him a voluntary visit, ever found 
a kind reception, were hospitably entertained, and were 
well repaid by the rich variety of his conversation ; occa- 
sionally sparkling with wit, and full of playful humour, 
peculiarly his own ; or sanctified by pious feeling, and 
meditation on sacred things. His well stored memory 
abounded in anecdotes, with which he frequently illus- 
trated his subjects, and which lost nothing of their point 



22 

and spirit by his manner of relating them. A few times 
in early life, he broke through his habits of retirement to 
go on short excursions from home. Once with two friends, 
the journey even extended into a few neighbouring states ; 
and in that one visit he observed and learned more than 
many travellers, who have wandered over a much greater 
extent of country, with their eyes not so widely open to 
profit by every object they encounter. Returning his 
father's love with the warmest affection and duty of a son, 
his attachments centred in his own family ; and though 
his " Elegy written in a Burial Ground," might lead to the 
belief that some one had awakened a more tender regard, 
yet he never married ; and it is probable that no stronger 
sentiment than a high estimation and respect for female 
worth, ever found an entrance to his heart. While thus 
pursuing the strong bent of his taste, and contemplating 
the hand of Providence in his works, few have ever listen- 
ed to the " tongues in trees," or studied the " books in the 
running brooks" with more heart-felt attention and profit. 
In addition to agricultural knowledge, he possessed no 
small degree of mechanical genius, which was often in re- 
quisition for the supply and repair of machinery on the 
farm. Although in this he was self-taught, yet he could, it 
was thought, had necessity demanded it, have earned a 
subsistence, as an artisan, by several distinct mechanical 
employments. Some of his cabinet work, for his young 
relatives, for ingenuity and finished neatness, could hardly 
have been excelled by those regularly trained to the art. 
An amiable trait of character was manifested, not only in 
taking this pains for the gratification of children, but when 



23 

in the company of young persons, he encouraged them to 
exert their talents, repeating the recommendation to " aim 
always at the eagle, if they only brought down a sparrow ;" 
and by kind notice and respectful attention to their opinions, 
he called their intellectual powers into exercise, and it 
usually had the effect of increasing the confidence of the 
timid, and adding to the good humour and spirit of con- 
versation. 

"With an utter abhorrence of idleness, few have led a 
more uniformly active and industrious life, or have been 
more constantly engaged in useful employment, when not 
for himself, for the benefit of others. It was his invariable 
custom to rise at four o'clock, or not later in summer, and 
at five in winter, and begin the day in religious retirement 
and meditation, and reading a portion of the sacred vo- 
lume ; for which he entertained a high value, earnestly 
endeavouring to form his life by its divine precepts. His 
mind thus imbued with religious feeling, cheerful, and 
attuned to harmony with the objects in creation, he liked 
not to hear in a tone of complaint the world called a " de- 
sert" — " dreary"—" comfortless" — " a vale of tears," think- 
ing such terms savoured of ingratitude ; a world which is 
in truth, as he sometimes said, " bright and beautiful, too 
good for man, whose follies and vices alone make it other- 
wise." His love for the Creator extended to his humblest 
creatures. The birds around the house were carefully 
protected ; little comfortable dwellings for them, the work 
of his hands, placed in the corners of the piazza and on 
the trees, were regularly tenanted, while the squirrels, 



24 



almost tame, leaped fearlessly among the branches ; and 
few persons have taken more pains to " step aside and let 
the reptile live," than he to avoid destroying the insects 
in his path. Even the very rose bugs that were re- 
galing upon the grape vines which he had carefully 
reared, he would brush off, rather than destroy, merely 
answering, once when this was remarked, " it would 
take many of us to make a rose bug !" and not until the 
tribe became too numerous to be longer tolerated, did 
they receive at his hand the common doom. The so- 
ciety of his beloved and honoured father was continued 
to him for many years. The fondest wish of a parent's 
heart had been gratified in the character of his son, who 
watched his declining health with the most tender and 
unremitting attention, until deprived by death of this 
intelligent friend and counsellor. Although his loss 
was keenly felt, comparable, as he once expressed it, to 
" losing a right arm," his step-mother was preserved to 
him some years longer ; and he lived in the enjoyment 
of affectionate family intercourse with a few near re- 
latives, who resided at a short distance. Yet, notwith- 
standing this, many hours in his own habitation were 
passed alone, and persons in general would have deemed 
the latter part of his life solitary. But, in answer to remarks 
upon the loneliness of his situation, he has more than once 
said " he knew not what the feeling of solitude was ! — 
that he had never known a lonely half hour !" wondering 
how others could feel it, there was such a " world within," 
it left no room for solitude. Two enormous Newfoundland 
dogs formed no unimportant link in his domestic establish- 



25 

ment ; fond of dogs in general, for their fidelity, these 
two were his playthings and favourites. When he was 
seated with his books, one of these huge animals was 
usually found at his feet, waiting for the kind notice he 
was always sure to receive. 

The amor patrice was with him a strong sentiment. He 
loved to observe the rising greatness of our country, her 
progress in the arts and sciences, and was a lenient judge, 
and patron of her literature. It was under a sense of the 
many advantages and blessings which we enjoy as a nation, 
that he says, in one of his youthful essays — 

" Reflect, Columbians, to your God 

What thanks, what heartfelt thanks are due ; 

While others feel his chastening rod, 
His choicest gifts are showered on you." 

In thirty years he had not even visited Philadelphia, nor 
in that space of time had he been perhaps more than fifteen 
miles beyond his own domain, and then only when busi- 
ness, sometimes of a public nature, called him ; for he not 
only contributed to the public benefit from his purse, but 
often gave his personal attention, on different services, for 
the city and county in which he resided. A strict regard 
for truth, in the minutest particular, was a striking trait in 
his character. In his view, no embellishments of fancy, 
nor the wit or humour of any jest in conversation, furnished 
the least apology for its slightest violation. With habitual 
care on this point, he was scrupulously exact in the 
4 



26 

performance of every promise, whether expressed or only 
imphed. This practice embraced small things as well as 
great ; acting upon the principle of "putting not off till to- 
morrow, that which should be done to-day," his nice sense 
of rectitude prompted him punctually to discharge every 
kind of debt, whether small or great, as early as practicable 
after it was due, to those who were constantly in his 
employ as well as to others. Of care in this respect, he 
was remarked as a singular example. He had beautified 
his grounds with shrubbery and flowers, in which he took 
much pleasure, contemplating them with the eye, and the 
mind, of a poet and a christian. Gardening, he thought, 
might not inaptly be termed the " poetry of farming." 
His large flock of poultry of various kinds, ■\vith the gay 
plumage of the peacock interspersed, contributed to cheer 
the winter scene. These, knowing the hand that fed them, 
assembled round him morning and evening for their boun- 
tiful supply of grain. And he has even been accused of 
feeding the poor famished crows, in the severity of winter, 
forgiving their summer depredations on his corn fields. 
His poultry, so cared for in life, he humanely endeavoured 
to save from unnecessary pain in death ; and in order to 
effect this as speedily as possible, he always caused their 
heads to be taken off, rather than incur the risk of pro- 
tracted suffering for them, by taking their lives according 
to the usual method. 

His constitution continued firm, and his activity unim- 
paired, till within a year or two of his decease, when his 
health began visibly to decline ; and when the undeniable 



27 



messenger arrived, in a deeply humblin^^ sense of his own 
nothingness he expressed his only hope and trust in the 
mercy of God, through his Lord and Saviour Jesus 
Christ, whose supporting arm was evidently underneath, 
and sustained him in quietness of soul during the conflict of 
expiring nature. Although, with characteristic diffidence, 
he spoke little of himself, his business in this world was 
finished ; and so entirely resigned was his will to that 
of his Heavenly Father, that, as he expressed to his sor- 
rowing attendants, " he dared not pray for life or death ;" 
and with a mind clear and unclouded he breathed his 
last, in sweet calmness and peace, on the fourteenth of 
the eleventh month, 1835, in the 64th year of his age, 
leaving many to mourn the loss of a generous friend and 
benefactor. 

The miscellaneous essays which form the present col- 
lection, were written at the solicitation of friends, or for 
the amusement of a leisure hour. Some of them were 
never before published — some, not intended for publication, 
found their way to the press without his knowledge. And 
those which were written for that purpose, were scattered, 
by their author, without a name, in the periodical papers 
of the day. 

He wrote with ease and rapidity, but, with true modesty, 
he was a severe critic on the productions of his own pen, 
and consigned them to the flames with little mercy ; never 
preserving the manuscripts, even of those which were 
given to the world. They were written, neither for profit 



28 



nor for fame, but in the humble hope that the lessons of 
morality and religion, which are inculcated in most of 
them, might awaken in the reader some serious thought. 
His character is indeed so truly delineated in his writings, 
as to render any other description of him almost super- 
fluous. 



POEMS AND ESSAYS. 



AN INDIAN ECLOGUE. 

Scene — The Banks of the Ohio. Time — Morning. 

Scarce had the morn her orient course begun. 
Or early breezes fanned the rising sun, 
When Mingo on Ohio's margin stood, 
And told his sorrows to the gliding flood : — 

"^With love of glory would the chiefs inflame 
My breast, and lead me to the field of fame : 
In vain, with glee, they show their scalps and scars, 
The glorious trophies of their former wars ; 
On me their praises and reproofs are lost. 
No flame but love, but scorching love, I boast : 
The nimble Laura does my breast inspire. 
Wakes every sense, and sets me all on fire : 
Enraptured while I^view her yellow neck. 
As soft as bear-grease, and as beaver sleek, 
From her gray eyes the living lightnings rush, 
Like the fresh dcAv-drops glittering through a bush. 



30 

But vain my songs re echo through the shade, 
Nor vows nor tears can move the haughty maid. 
E'en late I met her fainting in the track, 
Her child and blanket dangling at her back ; 
Scarce moved her feet beneath the heavy load, 
And di'ops of sweat bedewed the groaning road. 

" Yet other nymphs with fruitless ardour burn, 
And feel a passion I can ne'er return. 
In vain, with gifts of fish, Agolla strove 
To shake my constancy and win my love ; 
Her rough advances like a skunk I shun, 
And from her face with eager footsteps run. 
But vain my songs re-echo through the grove, 
Nor vows nor tears the haughty maid can move ; 
Then cease these fruitless plaints — I '11 take my spear, 
And through the forest chase the shaggy bear ; 
The bounding buck shall own my oft-tried ait, 
And feel this arrow ranklins: in his heart." 



31 



AN INDIAN ECLOGUE.* 

" Not with more haste the panting doe removes 
To closer coverts, and more distant groves, 
When on her haunts the prowUng wolves encroach, 
And tainted breezes tell the foe's approach. 
Than Tuxa flies his Agathol to meet, 
And lay his sylvan trophies at her feet." 

Thus sang Gatuxa, 'mid the echoing grove, 
Wliile bending poplars learned the tale of love. 
Oh ! happy morn, supremely blest, he cries, 
When Agathol first met my ravished eyes : 
'Twas on the day that joy unrivalled reigns, 
And all the fair were gathered on the plains, 
When valiant Mingo led his bride away, 
And laughing pleasure ruled the festive day. 

" But see ! she comes ! my Agathola comes ! 
How shines her forehead, and how slim her thumbs ! 
What heavenly charms her tawny breasts unfold ! 
And neck more yellow than Peruvian gold ! 
High through her nose a painted feather hung ; 
Words, smooth as acorns, dropping from her tongue ; 

* This, and the preceding, were written at fifteen years of age. 



32 



O'er her sleek form with decent care was spread 
A splendid blanket, striped with blue and red, 
While bits of tin and brass upon her toes, 
With melting clatter, tinkle as she goes. 
But ah ! how fruitless are the attempts to draw 
A perfect 'semblance of my peerless squaw ! 
Full long the nymph, by noblest motives swayed, 
Withstood my suit, while lingering in the shade ; 
But when bright glory raised the tribe to arms. 
And all the forest rung with loud alarms, 
She willing followed all the sultry day, 
Nor wept, nor grumbled, at the tedious way ; 
And urged by her, I drew the twanging bow 
With tenfold ardour on the flying foe." 



33 



THE BACHELOR. 

While some in lively strains relate 
The pleasures of the married state, 
Shall bachelors unsung remain, 
A ridiculed, though harmless train ? 
A scribbler's name I covet not, 
This hour admired, the next forgot. 
And useless, thrown neglected by, 
In dusty heaps his labours lie ; 
I only wish, devoid of pride, 

Whatever fate 

My songs await, 
To sing my happy fire-side. 

No helpless infant's hated squalls 
Are ever heard within my walls ; 
Nor does a scolding headstrong wife 
Disturb the quiet of my life ; 
Lord of my house, I sit at ease, 
And smoke my pipe whene'er I please ; 
Whilst thou, dear John, to woman tied. 

By cradle's toys. 

And restless boys, 
See'st occupied thy fire-side. 

What though 1 every day may see 
Numbers wealthier far than me, 



5 



34 



In glittering equipages go, 
While I must foot it, rain or snow : 
Though at my table nought be seen. 
But wholesome viands, plain and clean, 
Yet still I am with gold supplied, 

" Enough to give 

The means to live," 
To some who have no fire-side. 

There are, who obstinate and vain, 
Exult in bonds, and hug the chain ; 
Let these the sweets of wedlock boast, 
And toil to " gild a rotten post." 
See Crito, needy and forlorn, 
In sackcloth curse his bridal morn ; 
Blest with a fashionable bride. 

He's forced to roam, 

Or teased at home. 
And ne'er enjoys his fire-side. 

Let others tell the joys of love- 
But keep me from them, powers above ! 
Preserve me from that plague of life, 
A froward and expensive wife. 
But lest my choice should wrongly fall, 
E'en let me have no wife at all ; 
But still to gentle peace allied, 

With smiles survey 

Each new-born day, 
And still enjoy my fire-side. 



♦ 



35 



STANZAS. 



Sweet is friendship's sacred flame, 

Sweet is fancy's magic power, 
Sweet the breath of well-earned fame, 

Sweet each self-approving hour : 

Sweet the peace their bosoms know. 

Who bid the sorrowing cease to sigh ; 
And sweet the steahng tears that flow 
From dove-like Pity's pensive eye : 

But sweeter far the joy, when Hymen binds 
In his soft fetters two congenial minds ; 
His torch, unlike the meteor's transient blaze, 
Will gild their prospects with unvarying rays ; 
The darkest hours of changing life illume. 
And spread a radiance round the peaceful tomb 



36 




HYMN. 

Almighty Father ! deign to hear 

A grovehng mortal's feeble lays, 
Who, filled with wonder, love and fear. 

Attempts the rapturous work of praise. 

Around the sweetly smiling land, 
Where'er I turn my raptured eyes, 

T see with joy the powerful hand 

That stretched immense yon radiant skies. 

When spring returns to glad our land. 

Thy bounty robes the laughing vale. 
Dead matter wakes at thy command ! 

And insect millions load the gale. 

The glittering dew proclaims thy power, 
The springing grass, the waving corn. 

And every herb, and every flower, 

That scents the roseate breath of morn. 

Not less thy hand. All-moving Soul ! 

In the least, humblest worm, I trace. 
Than in yon glorious worlds that roll 

Throughout the unmeasured fields of space. 



37 

The ploughman pHes his annual toil. 

For wasting nature to provide ; 
With jocund heart he turns the soil, 

And throws the future harvest wide. 

But vain his hopes, his labours vain, 
If thou forbid the germ to grow ; 

'Tis thou must send the genial rain, 
And bid the fostering breezes blow. 

From thee, exhaustless source of good ! 

Poor man his little all receives ; 
Thy bounty flows a boundless flood, 

And feeds and blesses all that lives. 

O may the portion. Power Divine ! 

Of thy blest works which here I see, 
My groveling thoughts exalt, refine, 

And lead my wandering soul to thee. 

And while on this dark world I stray. 
Do thou o'er all my steps preside, 

And bear me o'er each slippery way, 
My God, my Father, Friend, and Guide. 



38 



ON DRESS.— TO THE LADIES. 

WRITTEN IN 1791. 

Madam, lay down that novel, if you please, 

And try a slice of more salubrious food, 
No soup of frogs, — no red-hot fricassees, 

To crack the cranium and inflame the blood. 
I bring but a small piece of wholesome meat, 
Which, when you taste, you'll find both short and sweet. 

Oft have I mourned, when I've beheld a troop 
Of damsels, bearing on their lovely backs, 

A load enough to make Alcides stoop, 
Of transatlantic frippery, and nick-nacks : 

Then have I thought, at some convenient time 

I'd give these girls some good advice in rhyme. 

Advice is a mere drug, (you'll say, no doubt,) 
And fools, in general, are the first to give it ; 

In prose and verse 'tis freely dealt about ; 
But very few think proper to receive it — 

Ladies, all this is very true, I grant. 

But still 'tis plain, some good advice you zoanl : 



39 



And I'm inclined to think that mine will please ye, 
For various beauties sparkle in my rhyme ; 

Though strong and nervous, yet how smooth and easy, 
And lo ! what touches of the true sublime ! 

So sweet my numbers, you will almost think 

I've swilled a hogshead of the Muses' drink. 

From small beginnings what great things may rise ! 

When Mrs. Eve, good mother of ye all, 
First thought of dress, one fig-leaf could suffice 

For coat and linen, apron, gown, and shawl. 
No wish for far-fetched finery filled her breast ; 
She thought, no doubt, the broadest leaf the best. 

For sundry moons, through all her happy race, 
This simple, neat, and frugal fashion ran ; 

'Till some misshapen beau, to shun disgrace, 
Or tender belle, improved upon the plan, 

And stitched, good souls ! a dozen leaves together, 

To hide defects, and keep off stormy weather. 

Each following age to some new whim gave birth ; 

But to the present sapient race 'twas given 
To ransack all the copious stores of earth. 

By Fashion, child of Pride and Folly, driven ; 
And in the covering of their skins so white, 
The different regions of tlie world unite. 

Oh ! couldst thou, Eve, from thy long slumber rise, 
And view thy daughters, all so fine and fair, 



40 



How would amazement open wide thine eyes ! 

How, lost in silent wonder, wouldst thou stare 
At all the various works of cork and gauze, 
The rumps enormous, and terrific craws ! 

Of all thy children, who so great as we ! 

Lo ! haughty Europe makes our shirts and cloth ; 
The West sends sweetening, and the East, d'ye see, 

Dried leaves to make, and cups to hold, our broth : 
The world's three quarters, maugre all their fuss. 
Are labouring, like so many mules, for us. 

(Our rising empire is a babe new-born, 
All fat and lovely, smiling in his cradle ; 

The nations, nurses kind, who serve in turn — 
One holds the clout, another the pap ladle : 

Of sugar drams, this gives him many a sup, 

And this in flannel wraps the urchin up.) 

There was a time — Columbia's gothic days. 

When maidens spun their wedding-gowns and linen ; 

But now, so tasty, so refined our ways, 

A homespun gown no wench will stick a pin in ; 

The veriest dowdy now is too genteel 

To waste a moment at the whirlinof wheel. 

Observe yon belles ! behold the waspish waist ! 

See the broad bishop spreading far behind ; 
The shawl immense, with uncouth figures graced. 

And veil loose waving in the playful wind ; 



41 



Mark the huge bonnets, stuck on hills of hair, 
Like meteors streaming through the turbid air. 

But hold — I've wandered from the end in view, 
A mile or more ; I only meant, d'ye see, 

To give a mouthful of advice or two, 
Ladies, and make you patriots, to a she ! 

Not to arraign your manners — not to hint 

A word about your dress, or fashions, in't. 

Build on your heads till they o'ertop the trees, 
But let the fabric be our country work ; 

Wear bishops still, as monstrous as you please. 
But make, oh ! make 'em of Columbian cork. 

'Tis time to show the proud European elves 

That we can dress, as well as feed, ourselves. 

Begin, ye fair ! adopt the glorious plan ; 

Reform and shine, in this reforming day ! 
(And not a soul that bears the name of man. 

But, pleased, will follow where you lead the way.) 
Equip yourselves, your spouses, and your rooms. 
With lasting fabrics from Columbian looms. 

No more, when wintry winds inclement rise. 
And chilling damps prevail — invite disease ; 

No more, in garments formed for milder skies. 
Start at a cloud, and shudder at a breeze ; 

But, wrapped in homespun woollen, snug and warm. 

Smile at the tempest, and enjoy the storm. 
6 



42 



With your own hands, the snowy wool prepare : 

Bid your sweet prattlers sit assisting by ; 
Health, Peace, and Pleasure shall repay your care. 

And pale Disease the happy mansion fly ; . 
No painful thoughts your midnight hours molest, 
But heaven-sent visions lull your souls to rest. 

Charissa ! were each blooming maid like thee, 

The world would ne'er have seen this well-meant song ; 

And our loved country would, indeed, be free 
From those vile shackles she has worn too long. 

But ah ! how few have sense, like thee, to prize 

True home-bred peace, and empty show despise. 

'Twas not thy pouting lip, of rosy dye, 

Nor breast, where all the loves delighted rove, 

Nor the blue languish of thy speaking eye, 
That in my bosom roused the flame of love ; 

(Yet thou art fair as Cynthia's softest ray — 

More sweet, more lovely, than the new-born day.) 

No, no, my fjiir one ! 'twas substantial merit — 
Thy mind, by foolish pride ne'er led astray ; 

Thy economic, thy industrious spirit — 

Thy love of homespun — bore my heart away. 

(Let not this well-earned praise oflend thy ear. 

By truth dictated, and esteem sincere.) 



43 



A LOVE LETTER. 

Oh ! Molly, Molly, what a tiling is love ! 
It makes the eagle gentle as the dove, 
The griping miser cash and hoyids despise, 
The wise man foolish, and the foolish wise. 

Till this strange passion seized my throbbing breast. 
Disturbed my days, and broke my nightly rest. 
Serene, unruffled, flowed my tranquil hours, 
My mind unconscious of its tuneful powers. 
Nay, oft when leisure led me to peruse 
The pleasing records of diurnal nezos, 
I've shunned the corner where the printers place 
The labours of the thriftless rhyming race ; 
But now I feel the scribbling mania strong, 
And not unfrequent ease my brain in song ; 
And should this letter, which I now indite, 
Be found (when finished) pleasing in thy sight, 
I'll make our clerk engross it fair and clean. 
And have it entered in the Magazine. 

O ! never, never, be forgot the night 
When first thy beauties met my ravished sight ; 
Though brilliant fair ones in the circles shone, 
My eyes incessant dwelt on thee alone ; 



44 

How did I joy thy snowy hand to see 
Arrange the china, and pour out the tea ! 
By sudden love o'erwhehned, O dire mishap ! 
I poured the scalding liquid in my lap. 

Can I forget the morn I chanced to meet 
My heart's enslaver in the slippery street ; 
How did my nerves with fear and horror shrink 
To see thee tottering on the gutter's brink I 
Impelled by love, I left the sheltering wall, 
And spoilt my stockings to prevent thy fall. 
Have I not strove to improve thee, and delight, 
Thy steps attending to each novel sight? 
The lion, circus, theatre, and pig, 
The man so small, and elephant so big ! 
And left the counter on a busy day, 
To take thee gadding in the gliding sleigh ? 
'Tis true, although we had not far to go, 
I overturned thee in the fleecy snow, 
(Not knowing well the nature of a horse, 
This discomfiture was a thing of course.) 
O may the villain feel the blush of shame. 
Who twice assured me that the beast was tame. 
But when in future on the sabbath days 
We take an airing in the one-horse chaise, 
Our negro boy shall sit before and guide. 
So shall my dear and self securely ride. 

A rustic genius, if perchance his heart 
Is pierced by Cupid's all pervading dart, 



45 

Makes flowery meadows his perpetual theme, 
A bahny zephyr, or a purhng stream ; 
Informs his fair one of his grass and clover, 
And counts in song his pigs and poultry over ; 
On scenes far different does my fancy rove, 
Far other objects win my Molly's love. 
I joy to wander through my crowded store, 
See bales and boxes load the bending floor ; 
There, Europe's produce fills the wond'ring eye, 
And yonder, India's splendid treasures lie ! 
Nynsooks, Mamoodies, PuUicats, Bandannas, 
Johanabad, and Chittabully 'Sannas ; 
Humhums and Mulmuls, Gurrahs and Salgatches, 
Cossedas, Allabullys, Nymposatches ; 
Of Tanda cossas, Terrindams a store. 
And Baftas Alliahbad and Luckipore. 

O didst thou, Molly, know what pains I take 
To make my person pleasing, for thy sake ! 
My dress adjusting with unwearied toil, 
My features moulding to the happiest smile. 
Sure Pity would thy gentle bosom move, 
(Pity, the meek-eyed harbinger of Love :) 
And lo ! what scenes enlivening Hope displays ! 
What suns of joy to gild my future days ! 
It tells me Molly will incline her ear. 
And crown my wishes in— perhaps a year. 

Reuben. 

Philadelphia. 



46 



TO THE MEMORY OF WM. LIVINGSTON, LL. D. 

LATE GOVEKNOR OF THE STATE OF NEW JERSEY. 
Written in 1791. 

When vulgar souls, ^vhen men of common mould, 
Slide off the stage, and turn to native dust, 
Whether they meet the awful king of death 
In the thatch'd cottage or the aspiring dome, 
E'en let them lie. 

But shall the immortal bard — the patriot sage — 
The man to virtue and to science dear — 
Whose bosom glowed with Freedom's sacred flame. 
And warmest wishes for his country's weal- 
Sleep with his fathers in the oblivious grave, 
And not a sigh proclaim the public loss 1 

Shall not the muse attend the mournful bier, 
To deck with fragrant wreaths her votary's urn, 
And pour her sorrows o'er the illustrious dead ? — 
Yes, Livingston ! and since no abler hand — 
No Barlow, Humphreys, Dwight — attunes the lyre, 
To pay the tribute to thy memory due, 
Even I, the meanest of the muse's train. 



47 



Timid, attempt the sadly pleasing task. 

Look down, then, from that bright, that bless'd abode, 

Where, joining with the radiant sons of light 

In hymns divine, of gratitude and praise, 

In bliss ineifable ! thou sit'st — look down, 

And warm my breast with that ethereal flame 

Which erst, delightful bard ! illumined thine. 

Then might I sing, in numbers worthy thee, 

The virtues that adorned thy liberal mind ; 

Thy piety unfeigned — thy judgment sound— 

Thy firm integrity — thy honest scorn 

Of knaves, wherever found, or great or small — 

Thy charity, and warm benevolence, 

Which flowed unbounded as the light of heaven, 

To no peculiar sect of men confined — 

Thy various labours for the public good — 

Thy just discernment, and thy taste refined : 

And teach, in lays immortal as thy own, 

Columbia's sons to emulate thy worth. 

Let others trace thee through the splendid scenes 
Of public life, amidst thy sage compeers 
For legislation met ; and tell how oft 
Thy worth-discerning country called thee forth, 
To guard her interests and defend her cause. 
Let these portray thee in that glorious hour, 
When, with Columbia's sapient sons convened* — 
August assemblage ! your united toils. 

* The grand convention in 1787. 



48 



By patriot zeal and wisdom guided, formed 
A work, the envy of the admiring world. 

I joy to view thee in an humble sphere, 
In the calm, noiseless walks of private life ; 
And hei'e, O Livingston ! thy genius shone 
With not less pleasing, though less dazzling rays. 

Who shall describe thee in those gentler scenes, 
Convivial, when, encircled with thy friends. 
Thou pass'dst in social chat the hours away ? 
Who shall describe thy manners, easy, mild, — 
Thy fund of anecdote — thy sprightly wit — 
Which, by good nature and by prudence reined, 
Ne'er failed to set the table in a roar ? 

Methinks I see thee in thy rural shade, 

Where modest art and simple nature reign, 

Turning, with curious hand, the historic page, 

Or philosophic ; or deceiving time 

In gentle dalliance with th' Aonian maids. 

Enjoying that delightful solitude — 

That learned ease — thou knew'st so well to draw !' 

But what avails the elegiac song. 

What all the honours that the muse can pay / 

Lamented shade ! the few, the happy few, 

Blest with tliy friendship, need no plaintive verse, 

* See a poem called " Philosophic Sohtude," by Governor Liviugslon. 



49 



To wake remembrance of thy many virtues, 
And prompt afresh, the fond, the fruitless tear. 

And thy illustrious name, O Livingston ! 
Shall live and " triumph o'er the lapse of time," 
Wlien this well-meant, this tributary lay, 
And he who wrote it, sleep in endless night. 



50 



ON SEEING A WREN IN THE MIDST OF WINTER. 



Poor little trembler ! why hast thou alone 
The winter's rigour thus presumed to try? — 

To other lands thy russet friends have flown, 
To groves that wave beneath a kinder sky. 

Through the long gloomy night and joyless day, 
Destruction near thee rears its horrid form ; 

The louring tempest marks thee for its prey, 
And cats, unpitying as the driving storm. 

But know, this deluge of o'erwhelming woes, 
This scene terrific, will not long prevail ; 

Again shall beauty's hand unfold the rose. 
Again shall sweetness float on every gale. 

And when thy kindred, in that happier hour, 
Return to visit each remembered tree, 

In some sequestered, blossom-covered bower, 
This hand shall fix a peaceful home for thee. 



51 



THE LOVE-DOCTOR. 



The following correspondence arose from a conversation, in 
which the author professed the knowledge of a cure for love. To be 
understood, it will be necessary to give the epistles on both sides. 



THE CASE OF AMANDA. 

Good doctor, with a piteous face 

I come to tell my hopeless case ; 

You boast such most amazing skill, 

That you can cure me, if you will. 

I love — alas ! too well I know 

I love a most enchanting beau ! 

The sad disorder grows apace 

And clouds wifh care my every grace, 

I'll state my feelings first of all, 

To know if those you symptoms call ; 

Know then, a most tormenting pain 

Shoots frequent through my heart and brain ; 

My memory 's short, my pulse is low ; 

I dream of Cupid and his bow ; 



52 

For several hours I sit and sigh, 

And the tear trembles in my eye ; 

And when I pass a shady grove, 

I think upon the swain I love. 

A seat beneath a willow tree 

Is a mere paradise to me ; 

A love song, or romantic tale 

Of Ralph and Nancy of the vale, 

Wakes the soft impulse in my breast, 

And robs the sickened soul of rest. 

And when 1 seize the trembling quill, 

To write of fountain, or of rill, 

Or dedicate a tuneful Ime 

To any female friend of mine, 

The treacherous plume at random strays. 

And launches forth in Damon's praise. 

These are my maladies I own. 
Discovered to yourself alone ; 
And now, good doctor, pray prescribe, 
And 1 '11 prepare the golden bribe. 

Amanda. 

Burlirijg^ton, Wednesday morning, 7 o'clock. 



5.3 



TO AMANDA. 

Amanda ! with pity I Ve read 

The tale of the woes you endure. 

And have more than once puzzled my head 
In attempting to find out a cure. 

But alas ! if my patients complain, 
And tell of their pains with such art, 

I must ne'er boast of healing again, 
But endeavour to shield my own heart. 

Wliat nostrums, ye gods ! can remove. 
What pill or what potion allay, 

The heart-rending sorrows of love, 
Or drive the remembrance away? 

Thus, vexed and dejected, I cried 

As idly I sauntered along. 
When, encircled with glory, I spied 

The Genius of physic and song. 

On the breeze of the morning he sailed, 

The Muses encircled his car, 
While odours celestial prevailed, 

Throughout the bright regions of air. 



54 

" Fond mortal, thy labour is vain," 
With ineifable sweetness, he said, 

" No relief can Amanda obtain 
From all the receipts in thy head. 

" But far in the East,* where I rise, 
A skilful physician she '11 find, 

To whom if Amanda applies, 

She '11 recover her calmness of mind." 



ESCULAPIUS. 



TO ESCULAPIUS. 



Can I journey afar in the East, 

This medical genius to find, 
Who 's to act as physician and priest, 

And prescribe for both body and mind ? 

'Twas a cruel invention of yours. 

To evade what you once undertook, 
Since you cannot perform any cures. 

But what are put down in your book. 

• The gentleman to whom Amanda was afterwards united was then in India. 



55 

Physicians — an envious band, 

Shall snatch the young bays from your head, 
And wide o'er Cokimbia's land 

The report of your shame shall be spread. 

I '11 tell the fair victims of love. 

Who complain of the pangs they endure, 

That the doctor of Hickory Grove 
May wound, but he never can cure. 

There is only one mean in your power, 

To prevent this assemblage of ill, 
Which is, that in this very hour 

You engage to comply with my will. 

Bid the son of Latona prepare 

A robe of cerulean dye. 
Or a still brighter vestment of air, 

And convey the young sage through the sky. 

Then should he a recipe show 

That will yield me contentment of mind. 
On him the reward I '11 bestow. 

And I hope you won't take it unkind. 

But alas ! I have nothing to give 

But my hand, and an innocent heart, 

Which he never would deign to receive 
Had I offered another a part. 

Amanda. 



56 



TO AMANDA. 

Amanda, I cannot conceal 

How much I respect and approve, 

The frankness, with which you reveal 

(Since you find you can't conquer) your love. 

How many a fair one has pined, 
Yet travelled through life all alone, 

Before she 'd unburthen her mind, 
Or make her uneasiness known ! 

But no longer shall custom prevail 

In defiance of reason and sense : 
Amanda has dared to assail 

The monster, and banished him hence. 

Disdaining the hypocrite's art, 

She offers, explicit and clear. 
To give up her hand and her heart, 

The moment her swain shall appear. 

Then Damon, ah ! shorten thy stay, 

Leave the East and its treasures behind ; 

This instant thy canvass display, 
And fly on the wings of the wind. 



57 



What pleasure has man here below, 

So ecstatic, so nearly divine 7 
As stemming the torrent of woe, 

And that pleasure, blest youth ! may be thine. 

To the cell of the mourner repair, 

The demon of anguish control, 
Dispel the dark clouds of her care, 

And whisper sweet peace to her soul. 

ESCULAPIUS. 



TO ESCULAPIUS. 

Why so sanguine, good doctor, I pray 7 
Why flatter yourself and your friend, 

That should he his canvass display. 
Success would his voyage attend 7 

'T is a difficult science, ho HI find. 
To engage in affairs of the heart ; 

And to yield me conteiitmeut of mind 
Consists not in medical art, 

8 



5S 

That ease which I so much desire 

No med'cine can ever bestow, 
But the recipe I shall require 

I will briefly endeavour to show : 

Not a diet of gruel and salt, 
To impoverish body and mind, 

But treatment that 's kind, to a fault, 
With respect and timidity joined. 

A character, guileless and bright. 
By weakness or folly unstained. 

Generosity's heaven-taught flight. 
By economy's caution restrained. 

The softness, the spirit of youth. 

The cool recollection of age, 
An adherence to virtue and truth. 

And the sacred historical page. 

Strong sense, and a justness of thought. 
That will all my wild fancies improve, 

Ambition, with fortitude fraught. 
And dignity softened by love. 

A spirit no menace can bend, 

Though mildness the point may secure, 
A tear for the woes of a friend. 

And a purse for the wants of the poor. 



59 

That physician, whoever he be, 

Who will mix these ingredients with art, 
And present the blest compound to me, 

Is worthy my hand and my heart. 

But pray what assurance have I 

That your friend in the East can do this ? 
Yet you take it for granted, and cry 

Come Damon, inherit the bliss ! 

It is but conjecture, at best, 

That he is not an ignorant elf, 
Who may prove, if he 's brought to the test, 

As arrant a quack as yourself 

Amanda. 



TO AMANDA. 



Amanda, I beg you '11 forgive my delay. 
For believe me, the fault was not mine, 

I would sooner have answered your beautiful lay, 
But I wanted the help of the nine. 



60 



And you know that the poet may labour in vain, 

Unless the kind muse will inspire ; 
And that he 's a blockhead, who troubles his brain 

Till his bosom is fairly on fire : 

Some ages ago, when her votaries were few, 
The muse was a complaisant dame, 

The bard who was puzzled, had nothing to do 
But to halloo, and straightway she came ; 

But now with her endless, vexatious delays, 
The patience of Job would be tired ; 

I have called her, and waited a score of long days, 
But have not, as yet, been inspired. 

Then let her go whistle, I '11 trust to my head, 

And be witty in spite of the trull ; 
Or if my productions are tinctured with lead. 

It is surely no crime to be dull. 

So much for the preface, and now if you choose, 

Amanda, I '11 tell you a dream, 
(And sure 't is sufficient, the bard to excuse, 

Who is drowsy, that you are his theme.) 

In relating a vision , a poet professed 

Would certainly pester the skies. 
Or tell you at least, that the genius of rest 

Tiircw a poppy or two in his eyes : 



61 



But such heathenish fables I mortally hate — 
Then know, when I opened your last, 

And was weighing profoundly your case in my pate, 
Sleep's cobweb entangled me fast. 

But fancy, unfettered, still busily wrought. 

And faithfully stuck to the theme, 
Till with scraps of ideas, and fragments of thought, 

She patched up the following dream. 

So immense that I sought for the boundaries in vain, 

A beautiful region I found, 
A strange, motley multitude covered the plain, 

And darkness encompassed it round. 

As, full of surprise, I observed the mad throng. 

One, led by the muses, drew nigh, 
And I thought as all sadly she journeyed along, 

I discovered a tear in her eye. 

She was not a goddess, (I will not deceive,) 
With sunbeams and clouds at her call. 

Nor flaring in fig-leaves, like good mother Eve, 
But clad in gown, bonnet, and shawl. 

She eyed the poor short-sighted 'crowd she forsook. 

With a mixture of pity and scorn. 
But often she cast a long, languishing look 

Toward the first blushes of morn : 



62 



When approaching more nigh, I perceiv'd she was crazed, 

For, frequently making a stand. 
Like the king at the diimpUng, intensely she gazed 

On a picture* she held in her hand. 

'T was the portrait, I found, of a youth far away, 

Who had cruelly set her on flame. 
Then hid himself under the chamber of day ; 

And Damon, she said, was his name. 

But whether 't was sketched by the pencil of truth. 

Or by fond partiality drawn, 
I know not ; for ere I could find the loved youth, 

I waked, and my vision was gone. 

ESCULAPIUS. 



The character drawn in your last. 



63 



AN ATTEMPT TO PARAPHRASE SOME PARTS OF 



THE TWENTY-FIFTH PSALM. 



To Thee, O God ! my secret prayers arise, 
On Thee with confidence my soul rehes ; 
Fountain of light and life ! illume my mind, 
To error subject, as by nature blind : 
Teach me thy will, and lead me in thy ways. 
And teach my tongue to lisp the notes of praise ! 
In times like these, when headstrong passions rage, 
When vice and folly rule a faithless age ; 
When erring man, his boasted reason's slave. 
Vain of the gift, forgets the hand that gave. 
Shall those that love Thee be withheld by shame. 
Their trust from owning in the Eternal name? 
Ah no ! far rather let the sons of pride 
Return, repentant, to the unerring guide ; 
From sin and death, from doubt and darkness flee. 
To light, to life, to happiness, and Thee. 
The meek and lowly who upon Thee wait, 
Know that thy goodness, as thy power, is great ; 
They know thou wilt, in boundless mercy, roll 
A tide of rapture o'er the hunil led souL 



64 



Which, filled with grief, with conscious guilt opprest, 

To Thee, the rock of ages, flies for rest. 

Before thy throne with trembling hope I bend ! 

Thy wonted mercy to my soul extend ; 

That tender mercy, which of old displayed. 

Has ceaseless cherished all thy hand has made. 

Great are my sins, to thy all-searching eye, 

Exposed in order, my transgressions lie : 

Thou knowest each guilty thought, each secret stain 

That wrings my bosom with remorse and pain. 

Great are my sins, but be those sins forgot ; 

My countless failings from thy memory blot : 

Behold my grief, and give my heart to prove, 

The joys, the riches of thy pardoning love. 

And oh ! while wandering in this mortal state. 

Where round my path unnumbered dangers wait ; 

Where strong temptation oft incites to sin. 

And restless passions raise a storm within ; 

Do Thou be near me ! let thy arm of power 

From evil shield me, in each trying hour ; 

To Thee for aid, I turn the imploring eye. 

To Thee for pardon and for safety fly. 

Supremely blestj the man who feels Thee near, 

Whose life is governed by thy saving fear : 

Thy love will lead him in the paths of peace. 

Thy life-fraught presence all his joys increase : 

Informed by Thee, he only rightly knows. 

To enjoy the blessings which thy hand bestows ; 

To him more gay the bloom of spring appears, 

A lovelier garb luxuriant summer wears ; 



65 

More brilliant scenes autumnal fields display. 

And more sublime the winter's stormy sway. 

From all thy works his mind instruction draws, 

In all, with rapture, sees the Great First Cause ; 

And when descending to the oblivious tomb, 

When Hfe's frail taper yields to deepening gloom, 

By no vain terror is his mind distressed 

This scene at changing for eternal rest. 

O'er death's dark gulf he casts serene his eye 

To happier worlds, where joys immortal lie ; 

Where doubt and fear no more the soul appal. 

Where peace for ever reigns, where Thou art all in all. 

Source of all good ! continue still to pour 
Thy countless blessings on Columbia's shore ; 
Still keep, in mercy, from her fields afar 
The woes, the horrors, of wide-wasting war. 
Alike remote, preserve her favoured race 
From proud aggression and submission base : 
Teach them that shame and ruin vice await. 
That virtue only makes a nation great ; 
That strength and peace will but from union flow : 
But, above all things, teach them Thee to know. 



66 



THE GENIUS OF ****** TO 



At length, to grace the sylvan scene, 
Miranda from the town removes — 

Display, ye fields ! a lovelier green. 
Your gayest livery wear, ye groves ! 

When wandering from thy native shore. 
To sea-girt Britain's rocky coast, 

I saw thee, 'mid th' Atlantic roar, 
I saw thee on the wild wave tossed. 

O'er Albion's plains I turned my eye. 
And saw thee rove on Thames's side, 

Where London rears her turrets high, 
Great seat of Misery, Wealth and Pride ! 

And soon I saw thy swelling sails 
Hang cloud-like on the billowy main^ 

I saw them filled with eastern gales ; 
Columbia hailed thee home again. 



67 

I kept the wanderer still in view, 

O'er sea and land, where'er she passed, 

For ****** 's shades, full well I knew, 
Would rest her weary feet at last 

And lo ! I see the mansion rise ! 

Young Beauty soon shall deck the vale. 
The flowers unfold their varied dyes. 

And fragrance float on every gale ! 

Here shalt thou oft, with ardent eye. 
Observe the ascending orb of day. 

And when he gilds yon western sky, 
Enraptured catch the parting ray. 

Here taste the pleasures, pure, serene. 
That Nature to her votary yields. 

The rural bench — the woodland scene — 
Gay meads, and harvest-waving fields. 

When wintry winds the groves deform. 
And clouds obscure the cheerless sky. 

For shelter from the driving storm. 
To thee, the houseless bird shall fly. 

The partridge shall thy bounty share. 
From anxious doubt and terror free ; 

The redbreast to thy feet repair, 
And ask his daily crumbs of thee. 



68 



For this, when Sol's enUvening power 
Again shall deck the blooming May, 

At evening's niild and tranquil hour, 
He '11 treat thee with his sweetest lay. 

But short thy stay — (we spirits know 
As well the future as the past) — 

To Penn's famed town thou soon shalt go. 
In Hymen's silken fetters fast. 



69 



TO 



ABOUT TO REMOVE FROM THE CITY TO RESIDE ON A 
FARM IN NEW JERSEY. 

The rural mansion 's reared at last, 
The toil of building almost past ; 
And now, while winter's stormy gale 
Around you scatters snow and hail, 
Some evening hours are spent, I guess. 
In planning future happiness — 
Deciding where these shrubs shall grow. 
Those fruits expand, or flow'rets blow ; 
Where waving pines shall throw their shade, 
And where the verdant lawn be made ; 
Which fields for grain, and which for clover. 
And conning great and small things over. 
I love these plans — they keep the mind, 

And body too, alert and gay. 
For every hour employment find. 

And banish hyp and gloom away. 

Thou 'rt travelling now, my friend, the road 
Which leads, I think, to joy's abode : 
But though not wond'rous wild and rough, 
'T is strewed with trivial jolts enough. 



70 



Though ills of various kinds compose 
The farmer's long, long list of woes, 
Thou soon wilt find the labouring race, 
Should occupy no second place : 
Their time and toil though dearly bought, 
One half at least are good for nought. 
(In this, our land of milk and honey. 
Where earth is plentier far than money, 
The careful and industrious poor 
An independence soon secure.) 
Item — 't is spring — the orchards bloom, 
And every zephyr breathes perfume ; 
'T is time the Indian corn was planted, 
For this, some extra help is wanted ; 
Away to this, and t' other neighbour, 
To find a man, to do this labour : 
And when the work of hiring 's done. 
He '11 play three hours, and labour one. 
Once, on a time, a farming brother, 
Returning from some jaunt or other. 
His train domestic thus addressed, 
To know how business had progressed : 
" Well Richard — I 've been some time out, 
What work have you, pray, been about ?" 

" Helping Tom, sir." 
" 'T is well, Dick, thou hast acted right, 
United hands make labour light. 
Thomas, I see the corn wants hoeing, 
Pray what have Dick and you been doing ?" 

" Nothing, sir." 



71 



The grass is cut — is turned — is dry — 
Dark clouds proclaim that rain is nigh ; 
But lo ! the wheel has lost a spoke, 
The gears are rotten, shelvings broke ; 
Ere all these things can be amended. 
The time is past, the shower 's descended. 

Thy neighbour's herd of hungry swine — 
As lean as Pharaoh's famished kine — 
Assail thy fence, let down a bar, 
And with thy wheat wage cruel war ; 
With snout insatiate tear the ground. 
And spread wide devastation round l 

When the first sprouting grass is seen 

To tiuge the riv'let's side with green, 

Thy men permit the cows to wander 

From mead to mead, up here, down yonder ;. 

Ruin the lots through which they stray, 

And lose their appetite for hay. 

Till each dry bone-betraying hide 

Seems Poverty personified ; 

Their legs refuse to bear their weight, 

And crows receive them, soon or late. 

Through some unlucky youngster's fault. 
The pigs have broth too hot. and salt ; 
Hence measled shoulders, scalded throats^ 
And varied ills that pester shoats ; 



72 

Dogs find thy sheep delicious picking, 

A mink each night purloins a chicken, 
Rats share the corn, and mice devour the bacon, 
The turkeys, geese, and ducks, by two legg'd rogues are taken. 

And will thy stomach, friend, be quiet 
On farmer's plain substantial diet ; 
Thy appetite look pleased and clever 
At salt and dried, recurring ever ? 
(For ah ! expect not here to meet 
The varied fare of Market street.) 
And canst thou, too, thy hunger stay 
With broken meat on washing-day ? 
If not — tell John to kill the calf, 
And send some brother-farmer half: 
And when he slaughters veal or sheep. 
In turn take what he cannot keep : 
Get, for thy well-fed, famished veal, 
On which a hawk might make a meal ; 
And for thy tender, juicy mutton, 
Such as is fit no dish to put on. 

Thus, anxious friend, for thy repose, 
I 've warned thee of some coming woes, 
That during winter's blustering weather, 

While fenced from tempest — calm — secure — 
Thou might'st a stock of patience gather 

For the next year's expenditure. 



?;} 



TO THE WIFE OF 



ON THE SAME OCCASIOIV. 



As some pert scribbler, doubtless vain of knowing 

Somewhat of digging, ploughing, harrowing, hoeing, 

Has deemed it proper in this way t' impart 

His wond'rous Imowledge in the farming art ; 

I, too, would humbly offer to tky view 

Of good advice a homely scrap or two ; 

Let then the following precepts, short and plain, 

Though clad in rustic garb, attention gain. 

No useful plant admires encroaching weeds. 
No healthy chick from egg unsound proceeds ; 
From milk or cream, with garlic tinctured strong, 
Sweet butter comes not, without churning long ; 
If meddhng witches should thy churn infest, 
To drive them from it, what device is best. 
Fain would I tell, but fear to tell amiss, 
For e'en the knowing disagree in this — 
To luckier hours the business some adjourn. 
And some put— sly— a dollar in the churn. 
When night extends her sable curtains round. 
Constructing cheeses be thy maidens found, 
10 



74 



At morn's first blushes let the work be stayed, 
For cheese should always in the dark be made ; 
So flies no knowledge of th' affair will gain, 
But the fair fabric firm for years remain. 
On no pretence permit or corn or hay 
To take the gardener from his charge away — 
Foul weeds will mark his absence with delight. 
Spread their long columns with resistless might, 
In countless throngs obnoxious fill the place, 
And crush the eatable and floral race. 

By long experience, rotten eggs are found 
Near twice as lono^ in hatchina: as the sound ; 
Hence those to whom the worth of time is known, 
Let their hens hover o'er the good alone : 
To know their state, the wise have various ways — 
Some, patient, hold them to the solar blaze ; 
Some, east and west attentive list'ning shake 'em, 
And some, more cautious, think it best to break 'em. 

When infant ducklings first delighted stray 
To the loved stream, and cleave the liquid way, 
Observe their wanderings with a watchful eye, 
For varied dangers there in ambush he ; 
The tortoise finds them most delicious food, 
And pikes, voracious, soon will thin the brood ; 
And oft, when homeward bends the waddling train, 
To spread their plumage to the sun again, 
Prone on their backs they fall, and there must lie, 
To sleep for ever, if no help is nigh. 



75 

But oh ! permit no cruel hand to lave 

The new-born turkey in the chilling wave, 

Nor, heedless of his pity-pleading note, 

Thrust nauseous pepper down his burning throat ; 

Forbear to tempt him corn or cheese to eat, 

Let eggs and onions form his savoury treat : 

When winged with wind, impetuous showers descend. 

The shivering urchin from the storm defend ; 

So shall he soon rove distant meadows over, 

And guard from hostile insect tribes the clover. 

When louring clouds obscure the solar ray, 
And eastern breezes chill the drizzling day. 
For washing house bid every hand prepare — 
And let them not the wholesome deluge spare : 
Of chairs and tables clear the wondering rooms, 
And call the tribes of buckets and of brooms ; 
To some far corner, undisturbed and dry, 
From mops and water bid thy husband fly : 
Then o'er the floors let rushing waves extend, 
Roll through the entry, and the stairs ascend. 
So will in time the air within, no doubt. 
Almost as pleasant prove, as that without. 

But my best maxims trivial must appear 

To one who has such able counsel near ; 

Th' accomplished housewife's various arts, full well 

The much loved mistress of ****** can tell. 



76 



AN ELEGY 



WRITTEN IN THE BURIAL GROUND AT 



Earth's highest station ends in " here he lies," 
And " dust to dust" concludes her noblest song. 

Young. 



In this neglected spot, where grazing kine 

O'er many a mouldering grave unconscious tread, 

And withering weeds and creeping brambles twine 
Their gloomy foliage o'er promiscuous dead ; 

Well pleased I rove, when Evening, pensive power ! 

O'er the dim landscape spreads her curtain wide. 
When Contemplation rules the silent hour. 

And bids each rude, tumultuous thought subside : 

To pore on half-seen graves, and sauntering muse 
On those who here enjoy eternal rest — 

While scenes, recalled to Memory's eye, diffuse 
A pleasing sadness o'er my softened breast. 



77 

Beneath this sod, with fragrant herbs o'ergrown, 
Sleeps what erewhile was fair Charissa's clay, 

Without or swelling turf, or humblest stone, 
To tell the mourner where her relics lay. 

Cold lies that bosom in this dreary bed, 
To all the virtues, all the muses, dear ; 

Closed are those eyes, for ever prompt to shed. 
At misery's tale, the sympathetic tear. 

Here let me stand, while darkness, hovering round, 
Obscures creation, from intrusion free. 

Indulge my woes ; and, wrapt in thought profound, 
Converse, Charissa, with the grave and thee : 

While fond remembrance wanders, unconfined. 
O'er former scenes, and opens all her store. 

Recalls each charm of person and of mind. 
And every grace (angelic maid !) runs o'er. 

What though th' unthinking, and the mirthful throng, 
All joyous down the stream of folly borne, 

With vacant stare, unfeeling pass along, 

While the loud laugh betrays the latent scorn ; 

They never knew Charissa : bounteous heaven 
Ne'er favoured these to taste of bliss like mine ! 

To them the envied joy was never given 
To gaze in transport on her form divine. 



78 

Hers was each soft attraction, hers the power, 
Each finer feehng of the soul to move — 

Her mind a garden, stored with every flower, 
Her smile was beauty, and her eye was love. 

No thirsty Arab with more joy could fly 

To the green vale where crystal fountains flow, 

Than thou to wipe the tear from sorrow's eye. 
And soothe the lone, dejected child of woe. 

But soon, alas ! each tender scene was o'er — 
To distant worlds thy parted spirit flew ; 

Methinks I see thee sleep to wake no more, 
And sweetly look a long — a last adieu. 

Thy various worth, sweet maid ! could nought avail 
Disease and wo the vernal skies o'ercast. 

Death rode triumphant on th' empoisoned gale. 
And the fair flow'ret bowed beneath the blast. 

So Sol, emerging from the shades of night. 

Through brightening ether pours the genial ray. 

But soon dark clouds o'erwhelm the sinking light, 
And louring tempests close the mournful day. 

Ah what is man ? Proud monarch of a day. 
An insect fluttering on the breeze of morn, 

That waves its pinions in the solar ray, 

A few short hours ; then sinks in wo forlorn. 



79 



Around his baric lell disappointment storms, 
As dark he sails down hfe's deceitful tide : 

Before him death frowns in a thousand forms, 
And grief and care assail on every side. 

With thee, loved maid ! I fondly hoped to share 
Whatever blessings gracious Heaven might send, 

With thee to wander through this world of care, 
And in thy fostering arms my being end : 

But fate forbade — and lo ! I kiss the rod, 
And humbly join the general song of praise. 

To Him who bows creation at his nod ; 

" Wise are his judgments, just are all his ways." 



80 



EULOGIUM ON RUM. 



Arise, ye pimpled, tippling race, arise ! 

From every town and village tavern come, 
Show your red noses and o'erflowing eyes, 

And help your poet chant the praise of Rum : 
The cordial drop, the morning dram I sing, 
The mid-day toddy, and the evening sling. 

Hail, mighty Rum ! and by this general name 
I call each species, whiskey, gin, or brandy : 

(The kinds are various, but the eftect the same, 
And so I choose a name that 's short and handy 

For, reader, know it takes a deal of time 

To make a crooked word lie smooth in rhyme.) 

Hail, mighty Rum ! thy song-inspiring merit 
Is known to many a bard in these our days ; 

Apollo's drink they find is void of spirit. 
Mere chicken-broth, insipid as their lays ; 

And pleased they 'd give a riv'let — aye a sea — 

Of tuneful water, for one quart of thee ! 



81 

Hail, mighty Rum ! how wondrous is thy power ! 

Unwarmed by thee how would our spirits fail, 
When dark December comes, with aspect sour, 

And sharp as razor blows the northern gale ; 
And yet thou 'rt grateful in that sultry day. 
When raging Sirius darts his fervid ray. 

Hail, mighty Rum ! to thee the wretched fly. 
And find a sweet oblivion of their woes ; 

Locked in thy arms, as in the grave they lie. 
Forget their kindred, and forgive their foes : 

And Lethe's stream, so much extolled by some 

In ancient times, I shrewdly guess, was rum. 

Hail, mighty Rum ! what can thy power withstand ? 

E'en lordly reason flies thy dreadful face. 
And health and joy, and all the lovely band 

Of social virtues, shun thy dwelling place ; 
For in whatever breast it rears its throne. 
Like Turkish monarchs, rum must rule alone. 

When our bold fathers crossed the Atlantic wave. 
And here arrived a weak, defenceless band, 

Pray what became of all the tribes so brave. 
The savage owners of this happy land ? 

Were they sent headlong to the realms below 

By doom of battle ?— Friend, I answer, no. 



11 



82 



Our fathers were too wise to think of war, 

They knew the woodlands were not quickly passed, 

They mig-ht have met with many an u^^ly scar, 
Lost many a foretop, and been beat at last ; 

But Rum, assisted by his son, Disease, 

Performed the business with surprising ease. 

And would our western breth'ren be less proud, or 
In other words, throw by the gun and drum — 

For ducks and squirrels save their lead and powder. 
And send the tawny rogues some pipes of rum, 

I dare predict they all would gladly suck it. 

And every mother's son soon kick the bucket. 

But lo ! th' ingratitude of Adam's race ! 

Though all these clever things to rum we owe, 
Gallons of ink are squirted in his face, 

And his bruised back is banged with many a blow ; 
Some hounds of note have rung his funeral knell, 
And every puppy joins the general yelL 

So have I seen (the simile is fine. 

And wonderfully pat, though rather old,) 

When rising Phcebus shot his rays benign, 
A flock of sheep come skipping from the fold ; 

Some restless sheep cries baa, and all the throng, 

Ewes, rams, lambs, wethers, bellowing pour along. 

But fear not, Rum : though fiercely they assail. 
And none but I, thy bard, thy cause defend, 



83 

Think not thy foes, though numerous, shall prevail, 

Thy power diminish, or thy being end ; 
Though spurned from table, and the public eye, 
In the snug closet safely shalt thou lie. 

And oft when Sol's proud chariot quits the sky, 
And humbler Cynthia mounts her one-horse chair, 

To that snug closet shall thy votary fly. 
And, wrapt in darkness, keep his orgies there ; 

Lift the full bottle joyous to his head. 

Then, great as Cassar, reel subhme to bed. 



84 



THE BEE. 



Ah! see where, robb'd and murder'd in that pit, 
Lies the still heaving hive ! — Thomson. 



As late I walked to enjoy that grateful hour 
When early breezes greet the rising day, 

A bee before me roved from flower to flower, 
And thus she sadly said, or seemed to say : 

Ah ! what will all this toil and care avail — 
Why do I thus o'er hill and valley roam? 

And wearied bear, through many an adverse gale. 
The spoil nectareous to my distant home? 

When the tall maple blossom'd — pride of trees — 
My toil began with the first smiles of spring ; 

And when the buckwheat scented every breeze, 
Departing summer heard my restless wing. 

In vain, alas ! for when our work is o'er. 
And cells o'erflowing, all our cares repay. 

Sulphureous flames, snatched from th' infernal shore, 
To one lone grave shall sweep our tribe away. 



85 

And must we toil through summer's sultry hours, 
And death, a cruel death, be our reward ? 

Tell, if thou canst, what crime, what fault of ours, 
Tyrannic man, deserves a fate so hard. 

For us no creatures are condemned to bleed, 
And lift in vain the pity-asking eye ; 

The flow'rets scattered o'er the verdant mead, 
And dews of heaven, our guiltless feast supply. 

'Tis true, protection thy warm hives afford. 
For which a portion of our wealth be thine ; 

With liberal hand take of our luscious hoard — 
Spare, spare our lives ! our treasures we resign. 

Oh ! may the man who, deaf to pity's call, 
Condemns us, helpless, to devouring flame, 

Find all his honey turned to bitterest gall, 
While wax impure provokes his frugal dame. 

If e'er soft slumber seal his weary eyes. 

When night and silence hold their gloomy sway. 

May glaring ghosts of murdered bees arise, 
Buzz round his bed, and frighten sleep away. 

But thou who dost our humble race befriend, 
May smiling peace for ever glad thy breast — 

May balmy sleep, unsought, thy couch attend, 
And grateful visions lull thy soul to rest. 



86 



MARGERY GRAY; 

OR, THE WITCH UNMASKED. 

Why stands that old cottage, so lonely and drear 
That it fills the beholder with gloom and affright ? 

And what is the reason that none can go near 

The door of that hut, without shivering, at night ? 

To see the old woman who lives there alone, 
One would think she could hardly do any great harm 

Why, her body is shriveled to mere skin and bone, 
And scarcely more thick than a broomstick her arm ! 

The cottage is small, but sufficient to hold 
A fire-place, table, and dresser, and bed ; 

The cracks, filled with mud, admit scarce any cold, 
And a few cedar slabs stop the leaks over head : 

And it 's well 't is so tight — for now not a tool 
Would be handled by any to mend her abode : 

And though by the door is the best way to school. 
The master and children all go the high road. 



87 



Yet once they delighted to travel that way, 

And would beg for permission, whene'er they went by, 

To take something good to old Margery Gray — 
A few links of sausage, or piece of mince-pie. 

She gathers old stumps in the summer for fuel, 

And no one has stopped her, as yet, that I 've heard j 

Indeed, to prevent her were foolishly cruel, 
For every one wishes his fields to be cleared. 

Time was she had pine-knots to last her all winter — 
They served her to spin and to knit by at night ; 

But now, not a creature would bring her a splinter, 
If they knew she was dying for want of a light. 

There 's not the least shelter, as any can tell. 

To keep from her window the snow and the hail i 

And even the peach tree, that grew by the well, 
Is dead, and its withered limbs sigh in the gale. 

It is true, that, to fence her poor cow from the weather,^ 
She took out her hatchet one bitter cold day. 

And cut some pine bushes, and piled them together 
By the side of her little coarse bundle of hay ; 

Her fence, by the wind and by time, is o'erthrown — 
Indeed, there is hardly a rail on the place ; 

And the garden, with nettles and mullens o'ergrown, 
Looks as dull and as cheerless as Margery's face- 



88 



But it did not look thus in the days of her prime— 
The fence was in order, the ^^arden was neat ; 

She had chamomile, lavender, hyssop, and thyme, 
And more sage than she wanted to season her meat : 

And she dried a good deal, and the neighbours all round 
Would send to her cottage, if any were ill ; 

She was skilled in the nature of herbs, and they found 
That she gave her assistance with hearty good Avill. 

It was owned, by the people that happened to pass. 
That her room was as cleanly as cleanly could be — 

You might put on your cap by her pewter and brass. 
And her bed was as decent as most that you '11 see ; 

But their present condition no mortal can tell, 
For none are so simple to darken her door ; 

No, no ! — all the neighbours remember too well 
The horrible tale of the blood on the floor. 

It was midnight, and cold did the bitter wind blow. 
And drove in fierce eddies the snow and the hail, 

When a stranger to Margery's cottage came slow — 
Like a ghost he seemed troubled, was silent and pale. 

Long beat by the tempest, so chilled and so tired, 
That his feet and his fingers he hardly could use ; 

To warm them a little was all he desired — 
So trifling a favour co;.ild any refuse? 



89 



The air was so piercing, that people that night, 

In the tightest of houses could scarcely keep warm ; 

And the neighbours came over, as soon as 't was light, 
To enquire how old Margery fared in the storm. 

But how did astonishment bristle their hair, 

When blood they saw sprinkled profusely around ; 

The legs of the stranger, all mangled, were there, 
But the rest of his body was not to be found. 

The blood of the traveller was every where thrown — 
On the hearth, on the floor, on the table it lay ; 

And to every one there it was very well known 
Not a creature was with him but Margery Gray. 

And none could imagine the man would admire 
(If left to pursue what appeared to him right) 

The notion of leaving his legs by the fire. 

And traveling on stumps such a terrible night. 

Till that night of horror old Margery never 

Was known to discover a relish for sin ; 
But now she is hatching some mischief for ever — 

'T is hard to give over when once we begin. 

She meazles the swine, and she pesters the cattle. 
She fly-blows the meat, and the harvest she blights ; 

In the midst of a tempest, at windows she '11 rattle. 
And keeps her sick neighbours from sleeping at nights. 
12 



90 



Thus from gossip to gossip, the story goes round, 
And the Hst of her crimes is enlarged every day — 

But the best of the bunch may be glad if they 're found 
As clear of all evil as Margery Gray. 

The stranger who strayed to her humble abode 

Had a friend who came with him a part of the way, 

But the cold was so piercing, he froze on the road, 
His bones by the side of the laurel-bush lay. 

Now the boots he had on were too good to be lost, 
But to get them was far from a matter of ease. 

For the leather was stiffened to horn by the frost, 
So he took off the legs of his friend by the knees. 

In Margery's cottage the business of thawing 
The leather and legs did the stranger begin. 

While Margery slumbered — and, after much drawing, 
Succeeded in ^ettinof the leffs from within. 

This object attained, he would carry no further 
A useless incumbrance, but left them to raise 

Doubt, fear and suspicion of witchcraft and murther. 
And embitter the remnant of Margery's days. 

Ye travellers all ! when about to do aught 

That may multiply wo where you happen to stay. 

Make a pause, and bestow, I beseech you, a thought 
On the legs that were left with old Margery Gray. 



91 



COURTSHIP. 



ADDRESSED TO A FEMALE FRIEND. 

I 've had a thought or two of late, 

Respecting courtship, and I seem inclined 
To let thee know a little of my mind 

About that awkward, purgatorial state. 

If, haply anxious to obtain a wife. 

Some seeking youth should try thy hand to gain, 
I know thou wouldst not trifle with his pain, 

Nor waste in courtship half the morn of life. 

How blest mankind if all the race were so, 
But ah ! a different spirit rules the sex : 
By nature pitiless, and prone to vex 

Their hapless captives with a world of wo. 

What numerous years of toil, fatigue and wo. 

What doubt and fear — what risk of limbs and life, 
By land and water, to obtain a wife, 

Some poor afflicted creatures undergo. 



92 



An aching heart, with brazen front to hide, 
With outward sniiles to veil internal wo, 
With stammering tongue propound the yes or no ! 

To do all this and more — and be denied ! 

And lo ! if once denied, though ne'er so clever, 
Wide spreads the rumour of the foul defeat, 
In council dire the female despots meet, 

And doom the wretch to singleness for ever. 

In amorous ditty if he mourn his doom. 
The luckless scrawl produced in evil hour. 
Proof of his folly and the fair one's power, 

Is borne in triumph round the tittering room. 

I would not wish my notions to be known. 
But truly I have thought, the ills that wait 
On courtship, are so numerous and so great, 

'T is better far to let the thing alone. 



93 



A MORNING HYMN. 

Arise, my soul ! with rapture rise, 
And filled with love and fear, adore 

The awful sov'reign of the skies, 

Whose mercy lends me one day more. 

And may this day, indulgent Power ! 

Not idly pass, nor fruitless be ; 
But, may each swiftly-flying hour 

Advance my soul more nigh to thee. 

But can it be that Power divine, 

Whose throne is light's unbounded blaze, 
While countless worlds, and angels join 

To swell the glorious song of praise. 

Will deign to lend a favouring ear, 
When I, poor abject mortal, pray ? 

Yes, boundless Goodness, he will hear, 
Nor cast the meanest wretch away. 

Then let me serve thee, all my days, 
And may my zeal with years increase ; 

For, pleasant. Lord, are all thy ways, 
And all thy paths are paths of peace. 



94 



SOME ACCOUNT OF MY NEIGHBOUR EPHRAIM.* 
No. I. 

I have thought sometimes, that the world would be none 
the worse, if it knew a little of my old neighbour Ephraim 
Heartfree, his notions of farming, and his notions about 
some other matters ; and I may possibly, if nothing more 
important engages my attention, endeavour to make the 
public somewhat acquainted with him and his family. 
But let no one be startled at this intimation ; my tediousness 
shall be bestowed in no overwhelming portions ; I am not 
disposed to fatigue myself and annoy my readers with a 
tiresome tissue of long-winded essays ; my communications 
shall be short, and 

" Like angels' visits, few, and far between." 

I have myself, too often, shrunk from the appalhng 
countenance of a dissertation of three or four columns, to 
offend in the same sort ; and in thus attempting to retail 
some scraps of the practices and opinions of my old friend, 
I have no apprehension of offending him ; he will not 

* These essays were written for the " Rural Visiter," a small Uterary paper 
then published weekly in Burlington. 



95 



mistake my motive, though very probably, as he lights his 
evening pipe with my lucubrations, he may wish with a 
benevolent smile that I had better business. 

To begin then in due biographical order, be it known 
that Ephraim Heartfree was born, when and where, is of 
no importance to this history : of his education I shall say 
little ; it is not improbable that, according to a laudable 
custom, still prevalent in some parts of our country, he 
was taught the rudiments of the English language by some 
itinerant pedagogue, who would work for little, and being 
rendered by idleness and intemperance unfit for any thing 
else, is wisely intrusted with the business of forming the 
morals and the manners of the rising generation. Be this 
as it may, certain it is that he learned to read, and this 
foundation being laid, the superstructure was his own 
work. 

" For know, young Ephraim was no vulgar boy — 
Deep thought oft seemed to fix his infant eye." 

Happily he had early acquired a fondness for reading, 
which the kindness of a few friends enabled him to gratify 
to some extent ; and this taste, while it made him familiar 
with the illustrious dead, preserved him in great measure 
from tlie contamination of the worthless living : holding in 
supreme contempt the character of that important animal 
an idle gentleman, he had a notion that his usefulness and 
respectability would be in no degree diminished by a 
knowledge of several mechanical operations ; he became 



96 



therefore a tolerable worker in metals : was by no means a 
contemptible harness-maker, and has often been heard to 
say that he considered himself a carpenter of no small 
promise. Although destined to a country life, he could 
perceive no necessary connection between rural employ- 
ment and rusticity of manners ; nor because it became 
him sometimes to speak of oxen, could he see the propriety 
of being able to speak of nothing else ; but his notions on 
these, and various other matters, will more fully appear in 
the course of our narrative. 

On the death of his father, he became possessed of a 
farm of moderate extent, which, notwithstanding it had 
produced only Indian corn, rye and mullens, in regular 
succession time out of mind, agreeably to a commendable 
practice still sutRciently followed, had somehow become 
the poorest of the poor ; his out-buildings seemed ready to 
take their departure on the wings of the wind, and the 
broken windows of his almost roofless mansion exhibited a 
delectable assemblage of weather-beaten hats and worn-out 
indispensables. A few evenings after he was settled in 
his new abode, he took a solitary walk around his little 
territory: poverty reigned throughout in all its dreariness ; 
his fences had tumbled to ruin in every direction, no living 
thing disturbed the profound solitude of his naked fields, 
save a half-starved horse, which the mercy of his owner 
had turned out to die, in requital of a life of labour ; while 
a group of famished vultures, on a blasted oak, eyed his 
feeble attempts to prolong existence with manifest symp- 
toms of impatience. The winds of December swept' 



97 

fearfully over the hill, and famine and desolation howling in 
the blast, seemed to claim the region for their own — Well : 
did he not turn in utter dismay from the rueful prospect? 
did lie not hasten to barter his hopeful birthright for a 
mess of pottage, and saddle his ass and move off in search 
of a fool's paradise in the west, 

Where trees move off, without the pains of hauJing, 
And crops of wheat come, ready thresh'd, for calling? 



No. II. 

No, he did not, as some knowing ones have done before 
and since, lose himself in a wilderness ; he had a notion 
that it would require less labour to resuscitate his worn-out 
farm than to clear a new one in the forest, and that a 
moderate crop, with a good market at his door, was pre- 
ferable to an abundant one with no market at all. He 
thought, moreover, that the comforts of a tolerably good 
neighbourhood, of friendly intercourse, of social worship, 
of convenient schools, of medical assistance in case of any 
of the numberless casualties which "flesh is heir to," 
were not to be lightly relinquished. T shall not attempt a 
minute detail of his mode of farming — of that judicious, 
quiet, and persevering management, which, in the course 
13 



98 

of a few days, made his little territory, compared with the 
surrounding scenery, appear like 

" A spot of azure in a gloomy sky, 
Or sunny island in a stormy sea." 

Such a detail would be altoorether useless to the generality 
of readers, who are abundantly too well informed to need 
it; and the very few to whom it might be useful, are not 
in the habit of perusing works of this kind, or indeed any 
thing else. One of his first employments, of course, was 
to put his buildings in a tolerable state of repair; not merely 
a dwelling for himself, but his stables, his cattle, sheep, pig, 
and poultry houses ; he had no notion of enjoying the 
comforts of a warm room, while the animals that looked 
up to him for protection were exposed to the "peltings of 
the pitiless storm ;" but when the winds of winter whistled 
around his dwelling, and the rain descended in torrents on 
his roof, he felt no small pleasure in reflecting that every 
living thing dependant upon him was comfortably shel- 
tered; he could then, seated with his happy family around 
a cheerful fire, 

" Smile at the tempest and enjoy the storm." 

And this humanity and kind attention to the brute creation 
was no transient or momentary impulse, but has remained 
with him to the present day : his teams are never over- 
worked, and every creature invariably has its food in proper 
season, and in sufficient quantity ; his horses, after labour- 



99 



ing through the day, are never galloped by a graceless 
son, or worthless domestic, to cough half the night at the 
door of some detestable whiskey-shop, and his cattle never 
go supperless to bed, because their owner, after wasting 
the day at some insignificant vendue or beggarly horse-race, 
comes home too much of a beast himself to feed them ; — 
too much of a beast, did I say ? I retract the expression ; 
I would not insult a sober beast by a comparison with 
many of the tippling tvv^o-legged animals scattered up and 
down, a disgrace to the country, and a loathsome burden 
to all who are so unhappy as to be connected with them. 
His boys do their duty — because, in the first place, he 
made it a rale to see them do it; and after a time they 
might be trusted alone, for good habits may be acquired as 
well as evil ones. 

The transformation of a gloomy desert into a fruitful 
field is not the work of a day ; but the progress of my friend 
in this pleasing task has been uncommonly rapid ; deter- 
mined never to plough more land than he could thoroughly 
manure, the increase of this all important article was a 
primary object, and every thing suitable for the purpose 
was carefully conveyed to the barn -yard ; no weeds were 
suffered to run to seed and wither away in his fields, thus 
exhausting the soil and perpetuating a nuisance; his grain 
was uniformly cut with the cradle, instead of the sickle, 
thus gathering double the quantity of straw; and his corn- 
stalks, instead of remaining abroad throughout the winter, 
a dreary and disgusting prospect, added largely to the fer- 
tilising mixture ; grass was sedulously cultivated, which 



100 



enabled him gradually to enlarge his stock; and from these 
various sources, with the addition, occasionally, of the 
scourings of ditches and the parings of old headlands, his 
heaps of compost annually increased in magnitude ; and 
though, in retrospection, he is not dissatisfied with the 
course he has pursued, yet so willing is he to receive 
instruction, and so open to conviction, that he thinks his 
wealth would have been nearly doubled, had he known at 
the commencement of his agricultural career the value of 
the ruta baga, and that the country is under no small 
obhgation to W. Cobbett, for his endeavours to turn the 
attention of American farmers to this usefiil root. In 
consequence of avoiding to harass himself and his teams, 
by cultivating unproductive soil, he has had leisure to 
attend to various improvements, among which the most 
important, perhaps, was planting a worn out tract of eighty 
or an hundred acres on the most bleak and exposed part of 
his estate with chesnuts, which, having been carefully 
protected while young from the depredations of cattle, 
have grown with uncommon luxuriance and beauty, and 
now form a magnificent forest, amidst whose lofty tops and 
intermingling arms the solemn murmur of the evening 
breeze seems to the wanderer beneath, like 

" The dash of ocean, on his winding shore." 

From a rustic seat, placed in a sequestered corner of this 
wilderness of shade, but which nevertheless commands a 
view of the whole farm, I have frequently admired the 
beauty of the prospect, the delightful intermixture of shade 



101 



and sunshine, the vivid verdure of the watered meadow, 
and the golden tints of the ripening harvest; the refreshing 
covering of green — 

" Green, smiling nature's universal robe," 

is no where broken, except unavoidably by the plough ; no 
herds of hungry unrung swine are suffered to deform the 
surface, and destroy more grass in an hour than would 
have served to pasture them half a summer ; and the 
pleasing appearance of the landscape has been not a little 
heightened by the neatness every where conspicuous ; for 
although my friend, had he been silly enongh to wish it, 
could not afford to waste his time and money in frivolously 
ornamenting his grounds, yet he had a notion that every 
thing offensive might as well be kept in the back ground, 
and that his fences and his out-buildings would be none 
the worse for being arranged as tastefully as convenience 
would permit ; his orchard is placed in such a situation as 
to form a most agreeable object, whether clothed in vernal 
beauty, or bending beneath its autumnal burthen, while 
an almost impervious hedge of thriving cedars, on the 
northern frontier, seems to bid defiance to the assailing 
tempest. About the middle of his little domain, and near 
a lively, never-failing stream of water, which his ingenuity 
has converted into various purposes of utility and beauty, 
stands the modest mansion ; and here, if honest Ephraim 
has made a few humble attempts at embellishment, it has 
been done full as much, as Columella recommends, " to 
allure the wife to take delight therein," as to gratify any 
inclination of his own. 



102 



No. III. 

Ezekiel, the second son of my worthy friend Ephraim, 
is a great favourite of mine ; whether the mildness and 
diffidence with which he advances his opinions of men 
and things, or the commendable deference and respectful 
attention with which he listens to my own weighty and 
matured observations, has had more effect in producing 
this favourable sentiment, I shall not determine ; but 
certain it is that he is a docile, pleasant youth, and we 
have together much agreeable, and to him, doubtless, 
profitable discourse ; because, when we happen to differ in 
sentiment, which however is not often the case, I com- 
monly take the trouble to bestow more or less labour upon 
him in order to set him right ; though it must be confessed 
that on some of these occasions, when I have dilated a 
little more than usual, and taking silence for the acqui- 
escence of conviction, have brought my argument triumph- 
antly to a close, and have turned to my companion to 
observe more narrowly the effect of my eloquence, I have 
found him asleep ; but in general, he is an excellent hearer, 
of most convenient taciturnity, and invincible patience — 
qualifications these, the value of which those can only 
appreciate who, like myself, are sometimes given to talk, 
perhaps, a little more than their share. Entertaining no 
desire to accumulate unnecessary wealth, and panting for 
no distinction, he early determined never to exchange the 
healthy breezes of his native hills and valleys for the 



103 



pestilential breath-polluted atmosphere of the city ; and 
the character of a plain, honest, iindesigning cultivator of 
the earth, for that of a smart, shifty, smirking haberdasher 
of small wares ; and he contemplates with mingled sensa- 
tions of pity and wonder, the deplorable delusion which 
leads so many thousands from the salutary labours and 
tranquil enjoyments of the country, to the harassing bustle 
of the crowded mart, 

" Where with like haste through various ways they run, 
Some to undo, and some to be undone." 

From occasional visits to the scenes of commercial activity, 
and fashionable frivolity, from the confused, distracting 
hum of an infatuated multitude of immortal beings, scram- 
bling with feverish anxiety for the momentary possession of 
a needless portion of evanescent dust, he returns with ever 
new delight to his rural employments, to the serene repose 
of his quiet home, and to all 

" The charms which nature to her votary yields." 

In spring, the delightful season of light, and life, and joy, 
how does his bosom glow with rapturous adoration of that 
beneficent Power, which, while silently preparing for the 
nourishment of all that live, spreads abroad, with inex- 
haustible profusion, the treasures of sweetness, and the 
splendour of beauty. With what pensive pleasure does he 
gaze upon the autumnal colouring of the variegated forest ! 
with what sublime emotion listen to the storms of winter 1 



104 

how often, when contemplating the harmonious march of 
the seasons, has he exclaimed, in the language of their 
immortal poet, 

" These, as they change, Ahnighty Father, these 
Are but the varied God. The rolling year 
Is full of thee !" 

In early youth he was rather a keen sportsman, but soon 

" Consideration, like an angel came," 

and convinced him that the pleasure of beholding the 
playful security and happiness of God's creatures, infinitely 
overbalanced any enjoyed in their murderous pursuit ; and 
he has long looked upon the wanton destruction of harm- 
less life, as nearly allied to crime of no light complexion ; 
although he makes no pretension to extraordinary huma- 
nity or delicacy of feeling, yet he would not knowingly 
crush the humblest insect that crawls across his path, 
much less would he endeavour to obtain the reputation of a 
paltry dabbler in natural science, by impaling, with savage 
industry, scores of wretched bugs and butterflies. In 
consequence of a rather delicate state of health, he has not 
been so constantly and exclusively employed in agricul- 
tural pursuits as his father and elder brother, and has 
therefore had more time to cultivate, in some measure, a 
literary turn ; and although his opportunities and acquire- 
ments have been very circumscribed, yet his hours of 
leisure have not been altogether unimproved: being sup- 
posed the best qualified for the office, it generally falls to 



105 



his lot to read alond some iustnictive author, or the 
magazines and papers of the day, during the winter 
evenings, while the family are quietly employed in the 
various occupations incident to the season, around a 
comfortable fire : on these occasions I frequently make one 
of the company, an arm-chair being always placed in the 
chimney-corner, for my accommodation ; and am often 
very well satisfied with my entertainment, more especially 
whenever any of my own little pieces happen to be recited. 
Although on the most intimate footing in the family, it 
was some time before I discovered that he occasionally 
amused himself by committing to paper his thoughts on 
various subjects : these effusions, crude and disjointed, 
were generally committed to the flames as soon as read. 
His sister, however, with a very pardonable partiality, has 
preserved copies of a few pieces, both in prose and verse, 
some of which I may, perhaps, present to my readers. The 
following lines from amongst them, I select for the conclu- 
sion of the present number, not because there is any thing 
new in the thought, or neat in the expression, but as they 
show, a little, the general temper of his mind. 



RELIGION. 

Oh ! wide they wander from the path of truth, 
Who paint Religion with a brow pf gloom ; 

Her step is buoyant with unfading youth, 
Her features radiant with immortal bloom. 

14 



106 



In life's gay morning, when the crimson tide 
Of pleasure dances through each burning vein. 

She leads, with guardian care, her charge aside, 
From the broad passage to undying pain. 

And when the fleeting joys of time are past. 
And dark despondence on the spirit preys ; 

She bids, with holy hope, the sufferer cast. 
To brighter regions, his confiding gaze. 

From slavish fears — from low debasing cares, 
'T is hers alone the sinking soul to save ; 

For her its sweetest smile creation wears, 
For her no terror has the frowning grave. 

No ; should this scene in headlong ruin close, 
Each shattered planet from its orbit move. 

She would not tremble, for full well she knows 
The arm is near her of unbounded Love. 



107 



No. IV. 

Eminently fortunate in the matrimonial lottery, Ephraim 
can testify, from his own happy experience, that " whoso 
findeth a wife, findeth a good thing :" sufficiently occupied 
with his agricultural pursuits, his books, and occasional 
public and private business, he has neither leisure nor 
inclination to interfere in the administration of the home 
department, the art and mystery of housekeeping ; this is 
exclusively Winifred's dominion, and here she shines with 
no small lustre. 

"Bless'd with a temper, whose unclouded ray 
Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day." 

She has the art, although no necessary business is ne- 
glected, of making every body comfortable about her ; and 
is a living and most pleasing proof of the fallacy of the 
opinion, that the spirit of neatness, and the spirit of good 
humour, refuse to inhabit the same bosom. Governing 
her household with a liberal economy, equally remote from 
careless prodigality and parsimonious meanness, exacting- 
no unreasonable service, yet suffering no neglect of duty ; 
kind, mild, and patient to well-meaning ignorance, but 
firm and resolute in reproving and controlling mischief 
and folly, her domestics regard her with almost filial love 
and reverence. Although of a lively, cheerful disposition, 
her steps are quite as frequently directed to the house of 



108 

mourning-, as to tliat of feastino^ ; and when sickness and 
sorrow sadden the abode of virtuous poverty, her sym- 
pathy, and comfort more substantial than sympathy, as far 
as her means extend, is never withheld ; and many a 
grateful heart might address her in the words of the poet, 

" When grief and anguish wring the hrovv, 
A ministering angel thou !" 

But she has little compassion for the poverty and wretch- 
edness arising from intemperance : and to this prolific 
fountain, perhaps three fourths of the misery in our 
country may be traced. She is willing that the drunkard 
should eat of the fruit of his doings, in the hope that 
affliction may bear a blessing on its wings, may arouse 
him from his horrible bondage, and rend asunder the 
shackles of an execrable habit which drags down, with 
remorseless perseverance, body and soul to temporal and 
eternal perdition. Fond of a country life, and fond of her 
home, that little paradise, of which she is the informing 
and enlivening spirit, and which she so well knows how 
to render the delightful habitation of peace and joy, she 
occasionally assists, as well as directs, in the various 
occupations of the day ; but no silly cupidity ever induces 
her to convert healthful industry into burthensome fatigue, 
and no ridiculous affectation of gentility ever made her 
ashamed of her business. When her neighbours call upon 
her, if she happens to be employed in her clean, airy, and 
commodious kitchen, she receives them there without 
hesitation or apology: but if her presence is not required 



109 



in this department, she meets her company of course in 
the most pleasant room her house affords, which is always 
ready and always comfortable ; her visiters are never 
choked with dust, smothered with smoke, and starved 
with cold for half an afternoon, while abortive attempts 
are making to nourish into life a sullen, or a sickly fire ; 
she keeps no best room to be scoured once a week, and 
then left in cold and gloomy sechision ; and when the 
important beverage, tea, is prepared, no strapping two- 
handed lassie is summoned from the milk-pail, to blunder 
round the room with the equipage, scalding herself and 
every body about her, and tantalising the hungry with a 
mouthful of cake once in half an hour ; but her guests are 
invited to seat themselves around a table sufficiently capa- 
cious for every one to partake with facility of the good 
cheer with which it is plentifully covered. Although 
always neat, and even somewhat elegant in her appear- 
ance, she carefully avoids all extravagance, and would 
feel far from comfortable if she carried half Ephraim's 
crop of pork about her, although converted into the shape 
of a tawdry shawl, and a frightfully enormous Leghorn 
hat ; and entertains too little respect for the trappings of 
vanity, to be either mortified or delighted when her 
humble abode is favoured with the presence of the frivo- 
lously fashionable, as is sometimes the case. I remember 
being pleased with her behaviour one day, when I 
happened to be with them. The family had just sat down 
to a plentiful, as usual, but plain washing-day dinner, 
when a dashing equipage stopped at the door, and out 
came Mrs. Snipperkins, and all the Misses Snipperkins, 



no 



and their cousins, the two Misses Spingiggles, to pay a 
morning visit, although they knew perfectly well that the 
hour must be inconvenient to a farmer's family ; but this, 
by the way, is a trick your half price gentry are very fond 
of indulging in, in the benevolent hope of deriving some 
amusement from the consternation of the natives. However 
here was no confusion, no huddling away the viands, and 
smuggling the apparatus into a closet ; the children did 
not take to their heels, screaming with a mouthful of red 
hot pudding in their throats, nor the elder members of the 
family sorrowfully adjourn their appetites to a more 
convenient season. Her guests were invited, with cheerful 
hospitality, to partake of what her table afforded : and on 
their declining so to do, she proceeded to help her family 
and herself, and do the honours of the sitting, with as 
contented and good humoured an air as if all the Snip- 
perkins and Spingiggles were in the Red Sea ; and these 
agreeable visitants, finding they excited neither astonish- 
ment nor alarm, after having nine times viewed the 
garden, took their departure to try their luck elsewhere. 

Her lovely daughter, inheriting all the good qualities, 
and emulating every thing excellent in the example of her 
worthy mother, delightfully blending 

" The softness — the spirit of youth, 
With the cool recollection of age," 

is a prize well worth a servitude like that of Jacob of old. 
I shall not, at this time, attempt her portrait ; but so 



Ill 



friendly am I to matrimony, that if I ever meet with a 
young man deserving such a treasure, which, by the way, 
is very improbable, 1 may perhaps endeavour to point her 
out to his notice. To tell the truth, 1 have thought of her 
sometimes for myself; but although the difference between 
sixty-five and nineteen appears to me altogether insigni- 
ficant, yet 1 am not without apprehension she may regard 
it a liltle more seriously; and a refusal, although it might 
not, to use the language of the sage of Monticello on 
another occasion, either pick my pocket or break my leg, 
yet is it a consummation by no means devoutly to be 
wished. 1 shall therefore, I believe, consider the matter a 
year or two longer before I venture a proposal. 



No. V. 

In a former number I mentioned that I might perhaps 
offer to the reader a scrap or two of my friend Ezekiel's, 
but I confess that it is not without some hesitation that 1 
present the following lines. iSome may be of opinion that 
matters of awful reality, of supreme importance, are more 
likely to suffer than gain from treatment of this kind ; and, 
indeed, we are so accustomed to see poetry prostituted to 
the most trivial, worthless, and worse than worthless pur- 
poses, that it seems little short of profanation to touch a 



112 

sacred subject witli so unhallowed an instrument; never-t 
theless, it is possible that a hint or an exhortation, conveyed 
in this way, may be useful ; the eye of the trifler, who 
would carelessly turn away from a sermon, may be 
arrested by something in the shape of verse, however 
humble or contemptible ; and even the harmless desire to 
criticise — a kind of business for which every one thinks 
himself competent — may induce a perusal, which can 
certainly harm no one. 

LINES, 

OCCASIONED BY READING MATT. CHAP. VIU., VS. 24, 25, 26. 



" And behold, there arose a great tempest in the sea, insomuch that the 
ship was covered with the waves, but he was asleep. And his disciples 
came to him and awoke him, saying, Lord, save us, we perish ! And he 
saith unto them. Why are ye fearful, ye of little faith 1 Then he arose 
and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm." 



When on His mission from his home in heaven, 
In the frail bark, the Saviour deigned to sleep ; 

The tempest rose — with headlong fury driven, 
The wave-tossed vessel whirled along the deep : 

Wild shrieked the storm amid the parting shrouds. 

And the vex'd billows dashed the darkening clouds. 

Ah ! then, how futile human skill and power, — 
Save us ! we perish in the o'erwhelming wave. 



113 



They cried, and found in that tremendous hour 

" An eye to pity, and an arm to save." 
He spoke, and lo ! obedient to His will, 
The raofino- waters and the winds were still. 

And thou, poor trembler on life's stormy sea ! 

Where dark the waves of sin and sorrow roll, 
To Him for refuge from the tempest flee — 

To Him, confiding-, trust the sinking soul : 
For, oh ! He came to calm the tempest-toss'd, 
To seek the wandering, and to save the lost. 

For thee, and such as thee, impelled by love, 
He left the mansions of the bless'd on high ; 

'Mid sin, and pain, and grief, and fear, to move — 
With lingering anguish, and with shame, to die. 

The debt to Justice boundless Mercy paid, 

For hopeless guilt complete atonement made. 

Oh ! in return for such surpassing grace, 

Poor, blind, and naked, what canst thou impart? 

Canst thou no offering on His altar place ? 
Yes, lowly mourner ! give him all thy heart : 

That simple offering he will not disown — 

That living incense may approach his throne. 

He asks not herds, and flocks, and seas of oil — 
No vain oblations please th' all-knowing mind ; 

But the poor, weary, sin-sick, spent with toil, 
Who humbly seek it, shall deliverance find. 
15 



114 

Like her, the sufferer, who in secret stole 

To touch His garment, and at once was whole. 

Oh, for a voice of thunder ! which might wake 
The slumbering sinner, ere he sink in death ; 

Oh, for a tempest, into dust to shake 

His sand-built dwelling, while he yet has breath ! 

A viewless hand, to picture on the wall 

His fearful sentence, ere the curtain fall. 

Child of the dust ! from torpid ruin rise — 
Be earth's delusions from thy bosom hurled ; 

And strive to measure, with enlightened eyes, 
The dread importance of the eternal world. 

The shades of night are gathering round thee fast^ — • 

Arise to labour, ere thy day be past. 

In darkness, tottering on the slippery verge 
Of frail existence, soon to be no more ; 

Death's rude, tempestuous, ever-nearing surge, 
Shall quickly dash thee from the sinking shore. 

But ah ! the secrets of the following day. 

What tongue may utter, or what eve survey ! 

Oh ! think in time, then, what the meek inherit — 
What the peace-maker's, what the mourner's part ; 

The allotted portion of the poor in spirit — 
The promised vision of the pure in heart. 

For yet in Gilead there is balm to spare. 

And, prompt to succour, a Physician there. 



115 

For me, I ask no mansion of tlie just, 
No bright possession in yon dazzling sky- 

For me, 't were joy sufficient, low in dust, 
Like weeping Mary, at His feet to lie 

In deep abhorrence of myself, and hear 

Sucli words as gladdened her delighted ear. 



No. VI. 

" Hard times, hard times, neighbour Ephraim — abomi- 
nable hard times !" said Habakkuk Grogit, as he entered 
the room where my old friend and I were sitting together; 
" can't borrow a dollar — been all round the country — no 
money to be had — wonder where it 's all gone — suppose 
to the East Indies, or locked up in the banks ; can't you 
let a body have a few hundreds? — give good security." 
" Take a seat, Habakkuk," said Ephraim, " if thou art not 
in a hurry, and let us have a little conversation. I do not 
think the money has all gone to the East Indies, neither 
do I believe that the banks are troubled with much besides 
what they manufacture themselves : I have none to lend, 
and, (excuse my plainness, Habakkuk, the probe is some- 
times as useful as the plaster,) if I had I would not, just 
now, lend it to thee ; thou ofFerest what thou callest good 
security— meaning, I presume, a mortgage of thy paternal 



J 16 



acres; but is it probable, with thy present habits — for thou 
art not remarkable for industry and attention to business, 
and art seen at the tavern quite as often as is necessary — 
is it probable that thou wouldst ever pay the interest, much 
less the principal ? and thinkest thou not that it would be 
as painful to me to take thy little patrimony, as to thee to 
lose it? No, what I call good security is founded, not on 
the property only, but on the virtues, the industry, and 
sobriety, and honesty, and punctuality of the debtor. But 
why dost thou wish to borrow ? peradventure to purchase 
more land ; take my advice and let it alone, unless what 
thou hast already is brought to the highest state of im- 
provement, which I fancy is not the case ; this hankering 
after unnecessary acres, this desire to add field to field, has 
been the ruin of thousands ; unable to cultivate them to 
advantage, and of course unable to pay for them, they 
become embarrassed and disheartened, fly for consolation to 
the grog-shop, and vainly endeavour to drown anxiety and 
perplexity in the bottle ; but perhaps thou hast contracted 
debts already? v/ell, thou must endure the consequences 
of thy own folly, but give not way to despair, reform thy 
habits, amend thy life, do thy best, pray for a blessing on 
thy labours, and it may reasonably be hoped that thy 
creditors, observing thy altered conduct, will allow thee 
time to extricate thyself from thy difficulties." "Yes," 
continued Ephraim, as Habakkuk took his departure, 
apparently little pleased with either the preacher or the 
sermon, "yes, the times are hard, but what makes them 
so but our vices, and our folhes ? the labourer finds them 
hard when he spends half his earnings in poisoning him- 



117 

self with whiskey; the farmer linds them hard, because 
he has abandoned the frugal industrious habits of his 
ancestors, and lives abundantly, too 7vcll, as it is miscalled, 
for his means ; the merchant finds them so, because, 
although he made a princely fortune while we had half 
the conmierce of the world in our hands, he spent it with 
the silly extravagance of a madman, at once impoverishing 
himself, and injuring his neighbours by his ruinous exam- 
ple ; he must have his magnificent mansion, his splendid 
furniture, his briUiant equipage, his costly wines, his tribe 
of wasteful, worthless domestics ; yes, we shall find the 
times hard till we mend our manners." Ephraim had 
got upon his hobby, and how long he might have conti- 
nued to harangue, I know not, but as I had heard him 
often on the same subject before, and wished to talk a 
httle myself, I took the liberty to interrupt him by reading 
the following dream of Ezekiel's : 

In the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth on 
men, Omar dreamed a dream, and behold, it seemed that 
the rising sun shone with mild radiance, on herb, tree, 
fruit, and flower, and the verdant earth smiled with dewy 
freshness in his beams, when Industry, strong and active, 
exulting in existence, with erect deportment, and elastic 
step, commenced his journey. The rose of health glowed 
on his manly cheek, and the smile of cheerfulness sat 
delighted on his open brow ; his course was directed 
towards that upland region, where, amidst groves of 
unfading verdure, diffusing fragrance over romantic val- 
leys, blooming in perennial beauty, Peace and Competence 



118 



repose together, and reward " a youth of labour with an 
age of ease." 

"Stern Winter smiles in that auspicious clime, 
The fields are florid with unfading prime, 
And from the breezy deep the blest inhale 
The fragrant murmurs of the western gale." 

Though powerful to labour, and unremitting in exertion, 
his progress was continually impeded, and his efforts 
baffled by a succession of disheartening difficulties, and 
clouds and darkness frequently impaired his prospect of 
the wished-for land. " These obstacles, my son, that ob- 
struct thy path, these gloomy shadows that obscure thy 
vision," said Wisdom, "are owing to the machinations of 
a frightful monster called Poverty, who inhabits the 
neighbouring caverns and infests the country; and, alone, 
thou wilt never be able to evade his snares, and escape 
from his dominion; but take to thy bosom Credit, the 
blooming daughter of Integrity and Punctuality, and 
happiness shall smile on your espousals ; but beware of 
the arts of thy enemy, he has numerous indefatigable 
emissaries abroad, to lure the careless to his bleak and 
comfortless abode ; amongst these, few are more to be 
dreaded than Idleness and Intemperance ; insidious in 
their approaches, they frequently assume the garb of 
innocent recreation, and insensibly beguile the unthinking 
to the gulf of ruin : shun them, my son, as thou wouldst 
the breath of pestilence ; their touch is pollution, and their 
embrace is death." " Never fear," said Industry, " I have 



119 



seen the miscreants, and shall assuredly avoid their dis- 
gusting- society: I shall know Idleness by his ragged 
elbows, his beard of an inch long, his hair, which looks as 
if it had not felt a comb for a twelvemonth, and his jaws 
stretched from ear to ear in an everlasting yawn ; and as 
to Intemperance, his feeble, tottering gait, his bloated face, 
and carcass, and his leaden eyes, staring at nothing, like 
an owl in sunshine, will sufficiently indicate him, therefore 
fear nothing." 

His Mentor's voice the aspiring youth obeyed. 
He sought, he Avoo'd, he won the blooming maid ; 

and prosperity blessed their union. The discouraging impe- 
diments, the mountains of opposition, which had appeared 
so formidable to Industry alone, vanished into thin air at 
their united approach. Cheerfulness strewed their path 
with roses. Labour and Innocence lulled them to their 
evening slumber, and Enterprise and Hope awoke them to 
their morning task. Their advance, though slow, was sure : 
already they caught, at times, some enchanting glimpses 
of their future happy abode ; already some erratic breezes 
from its flowery borders wafted to their ravished senses 
a delightftil foretaste of the sweets to come, when two 
travellers joined their company ; the one called himself 
Relaxation, and the name of the other was Refreshment. 
Their appearance was prepossessing, and their visit short, 
but so entertaining to Industry, that he was exceedingly 
well pleased to meet them again on the morrow ; and 
from this time, hardly a day elapsed without their spending 



120 



more or less time together. Credit saw this growing 
intimacy with no small uneasiness ; there was something 
in the appearance of the strangers that excited her alarm 
and aversion. Notwithstanding their apparently undesign- 
ing deportment, and harmless appellations, a chilling, with- 
ering atmosphere appeared to surround them; at the touch 
of Relaxation all her exertions seemed paralysed, and the 
pestiferous breath of Refreshment made her sick at heart; 
and when Industry declared his determination to adopt 
them into his family as his constant companions, she gave 
him one last lingering glance of pity, and slept to wake no 
more. Then it was that the wily intruders, winding around 
him the shackles of detestable Habit, and throwing off 
their convenient disguise, stood before him in all the 
deformity of Idleness and Intemperance ; they laughed 
with scorn at his futile attempts to escape from their 
fetters, they married him without his consent to a dirty, 
blear-eyed horrible hag, by men called Infamy, and with a 
grin of demoniac malice, and a yell of savage triumph, 
dragged him down to the den of their master, Poverty; 
who, " grinning horribly a ghastly smile," while his lantern 
jaws and iron teeth chattered with frightful joy, seized his 
victim, and dashed him a thousand fathoms deep into the 
dungeon of Despair, when the loathsome reptile with a 
hundred heads, called Disease, fixing his envenomed 
fangs in his vitals, and winding around him his slimy 
folds, he was heard of no more. 



121 



No. VII. 



I have thought sometimes that there was not, perhaps, 
an individual in the world, in health and above absolute 
want, who would willingly exchange situations in every 
respect, with any other individual ; but this respectful 
opinion which we so happily entertain of ourselves, 
although doubtless very comfortable and pleasant to us, 
might possibly become a little annoying and somewhat 
insufferable to others, were it not counteracted, and in 
some measure neutralised, by the friendly attentions of 
our neighbours, who kindly endeavour, as far as in them 
lies, to rouse us from time to time to a proper understand- 
ing of our insignificance : so that while we keep one eye 
fixed as it were in complacent contemplation of our own 
desert, and with the other, diligently scrutinise the failings 
of our neighbour, we get along very well together. I was 
led to make this reflection, which, though undoubtedly 
very sagacious, and indicating such consummate know- 
ledge of human nature as might be looked for in a person of 
my antiquity, has perhaps not much novelty to recommend 
it, by a perusal of the following letter which has just come 
to hand. Here was I, the nameless biographer of my 
neighbour Ephraim, jogging along with much gravity and 
self-respect, and holding forth occasionally, for the edifica- 
tion of the world, nothing doubting that the said world 
was full as willing to listen as t was to talk ; but this 
friendly shake of Anna Maria has roused me from my idle 
16 



122 



dream, and dissipated, for a while, at least, the illusions of 
vanity ; and I may comfort her with the information, that 
she will not probably be much longer afflicted with my 
lucubrations. 



To the anonymous writer of the Account of My Neighbour 
Ephraim. 

February 28th, 1820. 
Sir, 

I have wish'd some time to tell you a piece of my mind. 
But somehow, since my marriage, I hardly ever can find 
Half an hour of leisure, to write a line or two. 
The mistress of a family has such a world of things to do ; 
You will observe I write in verse; I always had a powerful 
Propensity to poetry, though my uncle used to look as 

sour full 
As verjuice, when I sacrific'd to the muse, and had the 

conscience 
To call it, sacrificing to a fiddlestick, and miserable 

nonsense ! 
But my aunt said, she was sure in reason I had a genus, 
For I could n't knit a stocking fit to throw at a dog, and 

between us, 
I never was particularly fond of work, though not averse 

to wear 
Domestic manufacture, but that 's neither here nor there. 
My husband is a worthy, respectable man, of course. 
But he has very little more taste for poetry than a horse. 



123 

And is quite as willing, like many well-meaning men, 
To see his wife's fingers busy with the needle as the pen ; 
So, not wishing to displease him, and hating dismal faces, 
I seldom write unless he is out, which seldom enough the 

case is ; 
But the day before yesterday, I thought would nicely do 
To write a letter for the "Visiter," and a friendly hint to you ; 
For my husband, after breakfast, sat off for a vendue. 
Which was like to detain him chief part of the day. 
So I got my pen and paper out, and put my work away, 
And told Sally to put a couple of potatoes in the skillet to 

smother. 
Set the cold bit of pie to warm, and go and see her mother. 
For you know, it would be nonsense to cook a load of 

meat. 
When there was only me at home, and I did n't want to 

eat ; 
But I had hardly written a line or two, when open bounc'd 

the door, 
And in came my husband, followed by two or three more : 
"My dear," says he, "we found the vendue had been 

adjourn'd. 
So I got these friends to stop and take dinner as they 

return'd." 
" Indeed my dear," says I, " I 'm afraid there 's none to take. 
For I was writing a little poetry, and Sally" — but I stopp'd, 

for I saw him make 
A very disagreeable face, " I wish your abominable poetry 

— but however," 
Says he, "do stir now at least, and get us something clever." 



124 

Only think ! well I borrowed Mrs. Fidget's lame boy Dick, 
To clean knives, and wait at table, for Solomon has a trick 
Of being always away when he 's wanted ; my husband 

was in a fret. 
Which did n't make things better : but he is very apt to get 
A little out of humour, when he 's like to lose his dinner. 
What cannibals the men are ! I often tell them that a 

thinner 
White of an egg sort of diet, would have an excellent effect 
On both body and mind, but they treat it with neglect. 
Well, Sally you may be sure was sent for in a flurry, 
And we killed the blind old cock, and setting hen, for in a 

hurry 
Nothing else could be got, and things went off better 
Than might have been expected : but I could n't write my 

letter ; 
And yesterday I was interrupted again, and almost begin 

to fear. 
Such repeated trials may injure my temper ; but you shall 

hear — 
My husband was out, so I told Sally just to rub 
The furniture in the parlour, shake the carpet, and scrub 
The floor, and the walls, and the windows, and looking 

glasses, 
And whitewash the hearth, and give a polish to the brasses ; 
And havino- g-iven her directions what to do next, I tried 
To have things a little quiet and comfortable, so I tied 
The oldest child to the bed post, and to keep 
The yoimgest brat from squalling, made him sleep, 



125 



With a little paregoric, for I keep a chest abounding 
With valuable medicines, some of my own compounding, 
Which nobody but the children will take, though excellent 

I know, 
For if they do not find you sick, they are sure to make 

you so : 
I think it prudent, when one 's well, to be pretty free with 

physic, 
To get well used to nauseous doses against one really is 

sick ; 
But my husband won't, says he, " its best to be cautious, 
Besides my dear, I find your poetry a dose sufficiently 

nauseous." 
Well, as I was saying, I gave the paregoric, and then 

strove to rally 
My scatter'd thoughts a little, but in vain, for in came Sally, 
With Mrs. and the Misses Waddle's compliments, who 

would come to tea, 
" Oh ! I wish they were — somewhere else — well, tell her I 

shall be happy to see 
Her and her agreeable daughters," — a set of tiresome 

creatures, 
How wretchedly they torment one, but I tried to twist my 

features 
Into something like a smile, and of course we had to get 
The parlour to rights immediately, but the floor was so wet 
It would have taken half a day to have thoroughly dried it, 
So we clapp'd the carpet on as quick as possible to hide it : 
I was quite in a quandary where to begin. 
There was every thing to do, and no time to do it in : 



126 

" O," says I, " Sally, never mind the windows, they '11 be 

here in a minute, 
Just dust the parlour out, and put the chairs and tables 

in it. 
And the silver wants cleaning, and the tea things are 

dusty. 
And the sugar 's full of ants, and the tea a little musty." 
We fixed Solomon on the gate post, to keep a look out 
For the Waddles, and to let us know, but not to make 

a rout. 
But the goose never saw 'em 'till they were close to the 

place. 
And then screamed, " the Waddles ! the Waddles !" till he 

was black in the face ; 
I was in a violent perspiration, and quite sick and lame, 
And had barely time to change my cap, before the Waddles 

came ; 
In the kitchen, things were crooked too, and Sally in a 

flutter, 
For there was n't in the whole house a thimble full of butter, 
Except the old garlicky lump, and the cat, a purblind beast. 
Had tumbled into the cream pot, and overset the yeast ; 
The cream had got so full of hair, 't was vain to think of 

freeing it. 
But Sally thought, if the room was dark, they'd swallow 

without seeing it ; 
But the butter really was so strong, it would not do to 

risk it, 
So Solomon went, on the old lame colt, full speed, for cake 

and biscuit : 



127 

And things went off extremely clever, the Waddles did 

not seem 
To perceive the extraneous substances established in the 

cream, 
Though Mrs. Waddle 's fond of it, and took a monstrous 

quantity. 
For " my love," says she, " I always found you never have 

it scant at tea ;" 
But when she drank her portion off, and a frightful cough 

succeeded, 
I must confess, I did not feel as much surprise as she did ; 
When all was clear'd away, my husband came, and found 

the child 
Screaming in the dark at the bed post, like wild. 
For I had been so worried with the tea, and the Waddles, 

I forgot to untie him. 
And he was so scar'd and famish'd 't was hard to pacify him. 
My husband said little, but I saw by his look. 
That he suppos'd I had a novel, or some other instructive 

book. 
Or had been writing a little poetry, for he is n't such a 

noddle, 
As to think I 'd tie the child up, on account of Mrs. Waddle ; 
And now I shall be interrupted again, immediately, no 

doubt, 
So that to write a letter of any reasonable length, is totally 

out 
Of the question, I shall therefore proceed with all brevity, 

to say. 
In a gentle, kind, and conciliating way, 



128 



That we have been annoy'd with abundance more than 

enough 
Of your tiresome old Ephraim : such wretched stupid stuiF 
Would wear out the patience of an ass, and I earnestly 

desire, 
If you have more of it on hand, you will put it in the fire : 
I 'd have you know we take the paper, sir, and pay our cash 
For something worth perusing, not for trash 
So wholly worthless, and in short, I think 

Your wisest course is, to give scribbling o'er, 
Sell all your paper — throw away your ink. 

And tire your neighbours, and yourself, no more. 

Anna Maria Couplet. 



No. VIII. 

Having been absent from home for about a week or ten 
days on a little journey, on my return, as I passed through 
the village, in the neighbourhood of my friend's residence, 
exchanging as is usual on such occasions, friendly greetings 
with every one I met, I was asked whether I had heard of 
the unhappy accident which had happened to my neigh- 
bour Ephraim ? On my replying in the negative, I was 
informed that he had been considerably bruised by an 
unlucky heifer, which had attacked him in the field; about 



129 



half a mile further on my way, I was told he had been 
severely wounded by a vicious cow, and was thonglit to 
be in some danger ; and when I arrived at the turn of the 
road, I learned that he had been frightfully mangled by 
a couple of mad bulls, was carried home senseless, and 
soon expired — that his wife was confined to her bed with 
illness, and both his sons from home. On hearing this 
dreadful confirmation of my worst fears, and reflecting on 
the distressed situation of the daughter, I thought it best 
to render immediately all the little services in my power ; 
accordingly, I turned back to the post oflice, and sent off 
intelligence of the melancholy event to some distant 
relations and friends, and then called at the nearest store, 
and purchased a winding-sheet, which I put in my pocket ; 
I afterwards bespoke a plain strong cofiin, and directed a 
grave to be prepared, and then pursued my way to the 
habitation of my departed friend. The evening closed in 
before I had travelled half the distance ; the air was raw 
and chilly, and the sky looked lowering and tempestuous ; 
the wind, in frightful gusts, swept across my path, and 
amidst the leafless branches seemed to 

" Sigh the sad spirit of the coming storm." 

Every thing wore a dreary and comfortless aspect, and 
appeared to partake of the sadness and desolation of my 
own feelings. On approaching the dwelling, my old 
acquaintance Watch, the house dog, met me as usual, 
with his kind, but rough caresses. Putting him gently 
aside, I rebuked him in a whisper, and quietly lifting the 
17 



130 



latch, proceeded on tip-toe through the entry, with that 
solemn and mysterious silence so generally observed in 
the house of death, as if the survivors were fearful of 
awakening and calling back the departed ; and opening the 
well-known parlour door, found Ephraim in the act of 
swallowing a hearty draught of excellent rye coffee, while 
a respectable dish of buckwheat cakes smoked most in- 
vitingly on the table, around which his smiling family 
were comfortably seated. As soon as I had somewhat 
recovered from my astonishment, I enquired (although 
certainly the enquiry was apparently needless) whether 
they were all well? and if any thing unpleasant had 
happened ? and was told, that Ephraim had stumbled in 
the dark over a blind calf, that was asleep in the path, 
and sprained his thumb, and that his wife had been a 
little troubled with tooth-ache. I then related my story, 
which gave rise to a number of observations on tattling, 
and the talent for amplification, which is so generally 
possessed, and some pleasant remarks were made on the 
kindness with which people endeavour to make the most 
of their neighbour's ailments and calamities, and the old 
story of the man and the three crows was not forgotten 
on the occasion. " Well, my friend," said Ephraim, as we 
finished our meal, and drew our chairs round the fire, " it 
seems that the love of the marvellous, the desire to add a 
dash of the wonderful to the most common occurrence, 
which is so prevalent in the world, has put thee to some 
trouble and expense ; however, the sheet I suppose may be 
converted to some useful purpose, the narrow house will 
keep till it is wanted, and the hole we must fill up again^ 



131 

lest some one should happen to occupy it before his time ; 
and if this restless, gossiping spirit, never did any thing 
more injurious, we might endure him with tolerable pa- 
tience, but he is too often as malicious as active, scattering, 
with mischievous industry, uneasiness in families, and 
dissention in neighbourhoods : lynx-eyed to discern the 
most trivial frailty or infirmity, and trumpet-ton gued to 
proclaim it to the world, while on other occasions, so 
purblind is he, that he cannot perceive an amiable quality, 
or a commendable action, although close to his nose : truly 
indeed saith the poet, 

" On eagles' wings immortal scandals fly, 
While virtuous actions are but born to die." 

"I know not how true it may be, but it is said, that this 
busy, meddling, tattling, wonder-hunting, pestilent, scan- 
dalous spirit, is particularly apt to infest small towns and 
villages ; with obstinate perversity and virulent pertinacity 
magnifying all the evil he meets with, and belittleing all 
the good ; misrepresenting and distorting indifferent actions, 
murdering reputations, and destroying confidence, setting 
the worthy inhabitants by the ears, they hardly know 
why or wherefore, and raising a wonderful dust about 
nothing. If this is the case, it must certainly be desirable 
to get rid of so disagreeable and troublesome an inmate, 
with all expedition, and I know of no method more likely 
to banish him, than for each one to resolve to mind his 
own business, and let that of others alone : follow the 
example of the farmer, who confines himself to the culti- 



132 

vation of his own enclosures, and finds work enough 
in eradicating the weeds from his own fields, without 
intermeddling with those of his neighbours ; let each one 
mend one ; let him go thoroughly and effectually into the 
business of self-examination ; let him look with a resolute 
and unshrinking eye into the unexplored intricacies and 
dark recesses of his own heart, and if he find it ' deceitful 
above all things, and desperately wicked,' if instead of 
being 'rich and increased with goods, and having need of 
nothing,' he finds that he is ' wretched, and miserable, and 
poor, and blind, and naked,' if he trembles with alarm at 
the humiliating discovery of his own depravity, his utter 
worthlessness and inability of himself to think a good 
thought, or do a good deed, he will feel little disposition to 
pry with idle curiosity into the actions of his neighbours, 
or to scrutinise with acrimonious severity, the frailties of 
an offending brother, but in somewhat of the spirit of that 
charity which ' suffereth long, and is kind, which is not 
easily provoked and thinketh no evil,' his petition may 
possibly be, 

' Teach me to feel another's wo, 

To hide the fault I see ; 
The mercy I to others show. 

That mercy show to me.' " 



133 



No. IX. 



Although it seems probable that the following little 
piece of Ezekiel's was written some time since, at a period 
when the goodly work of extermination was going on in 
the wilderness, yet I venture to insert it in order to comply 
with some sort of an engagement, but chiefly because it 
affords me an occasion to introduce a notion of Ephraim's 
on the same subject ; we had been conversing on the rapid 
extension of the white settlements, and the probable total 
extinction ere long of the Indian race, when I handed him 
these lines. " Aye," said he, as he gave a glance at the 
conclusion, "we may call upon the good and wise to bestir 
themselves ; but if I may venture to judge from my own 
impressions, it will be some time, in our country at least, 
before they will feel much of the spirit of exertion, however 
desirous they may be to benefit every branch of the human 
family; the recent decision in congress, of what has been, 
not unaptly, called the misery question, has operated on 
the hopes and prospects of the philanthropist like a blasting 
mildew on the blossoms of the spring. When I reflect on 
the wretched infatuation, the deplorable imbecility which 
consented to diffuse the fretting leprosy, the horrible 
opprobrium of slavery, over regions of almost indefinite 
extent, and this too, not only in opposition to the dictates 
of humanity and of sound policy, but in the case of several 
of the public servants, in defiance and contempt of the 
repeatedly declared will of their constituents ; I find it no 



134 

easy matter to restrain my indignation within the bounds 
of decorous langfuage. If those who have thus contributed 
to spread this portentous evil over an immense expanse of 
territory, and throw away at a cast, and for ever, the 
redeeming influence of the free states, were really doubtful 
of the power of congress to impose the restriction, or if 
they were affi'ighted at the ghost of civil war and separa- 
tion, the raw-head and bloody-bones which cunning or 
arrogance conjured up for their contemplation, they should 
have resigned their seats to men of more correct opinions, 
and of firmer nerves. I have no desire to enlarge on this 
hateful subject, it has been sufiiciently discussed ; but as it 
incidentally occurred, I could do no less than express my 
mortification and regret, and a hope and trust, that at the 
next election, the freemen of New Jersey will not fail to 
bear in mind the merits of those who have mis-represented 
them on this occasion. We may not it is true, recall the 
evil, or undo the mischief, but we may in some measure, 
remove the degrading stigma from ourselves. With respect 
to the civilisation and conversion of the Indians, I am not 
one of those who believe the thing to be altogether impos- 
sible ; let those who doubt its practicability, read LoskiePs 
history of the missions of the United Brethren, and contrast 
the mild, lamb-like deportment of the Indian converts with 
the brutal ferocity of the white and red savages around 
them, and they may perhaps change their opinion ; but I 
have no expectation that the remnant of the Indian race 
will be civilised, or usefully enlightened, by distributing 
among them ten thousand dollars a year, which, I believe, 
is the sum appropriated for the purpose, or by the efforts 



135 



of a few individuals scattered here and there. No ; if they 
are ever converted to Christianity, it must probably be in 
consequence of our setting them the example ; were we to 
become a nation of Christians, the benevolent endeavours 
of the virtuous few would not be counteracted and 
rendered nugatory by the labours of the worthless many ; 
we should provoke no hostilities to afford us a pretext to 
grasp needless territory, that cupidity might carve out 
new states for slaves to cultivate ; but independent of any 
advantages likely to result to the Indians, I think it would 
be well to try the experimemt for our own sakes — we 
should, I take it, be quite as happy here, and none the 
worse, hereafter. Our newspapers, it is true, might perhaps 
be less amusing than they are at present; we might have 
fewer privateers or pirates on the ocean, and mail robbers 
and murderers on the land ; the trade of the kidnapper 
and slave dealer might languish, and incendiaries become 
rare in our cities ; our honourable men, instead of blowing 
each other's brains out, if they have any, for a word, or a 
gesture, might be more afraid of everlasting damnation 
than of the momentary laugh of fools ; but upon the whole, 
I think our respectability would be no wise diminished." 



From the blood-stained track of ruthless war. 

An Indian boy had fled — 
Remote from his home, in the wild woods far, 

A moss bank pillowed his head. 



136 

His glossy hair was damp with dew, 

His air was mild and meek — 
And it seemed that a straggling tear or two, 

Had wandered down his cheek ; 

For he saw, in his dream, the bayonets gleam. 

He saw his kindred fall ; 
And he heard his mother's dying scream, 

And the crackling flames take all. 

In his feverish sleep he tm*ned and rolled 
'Mid the fern and the wild flowers gay ; 

And his little hand fell on a rattlesnake's fold, 
As coiled in the herbage it lay. 

His head the stately reptile raised, 

Unclosed his fiery eye ; 
On the sleeping boy for a moment gazed, 

Then passed him harmless by. 

'Twas well, young savage, well for thee 

It was only the serpent's lair. 
Thy fate perchance would different be, 

Had the white man slumbered there. 

His short nap o'er, uprose the child. 

His lonely way to tread ; 
Through the deepest gloom of the forest wild. 

His pathless journey led. 



137 



Where hi^h in air the cypress shakes 

His mossy tresses wide ; 
O'er the beaver's stream, and the dark blue lakes, 

Where the wild duck squadrons ride. 

At the close of the day in a wildering glen, 

A covert met his view ; 
And he crept well pleased in the sheltering den, 

For chilly the night wind blew. 

And soon his weary eyelids close, 
Though something touched his ear, 

'Twas only the famished she-wolf's nose, 
As she smelt for her young ones near : 

And forth she hied at the noon of night. 

To seek her 'customed prey — 
And the Indian boy, at the peep of light^ 

He too pursued his way. 

'Twas well, young savage, well for thee, 

It was only the wild beast's lair. 
Thy fate perchance would different be 

Had the white man slumbered there. 

But where, alas ! poor wanderer, canst thou stray, 
Where white intruders shall molest no more ? 

Like ocean's billows, their resistless way 

A whelming deluge spreads from shore to shore. 



18 



138 



Their onward march, insatiate as the grave, 
Still shall they hold, to province province join ; 

Till bounded by the broad Pacific's wave, 
Their giant empire seas alone confine. 

And lo ! their missions distant climes explore, 
To spread the joyful gospel tidings far — 

While wrapt in tenfold darlmess, at their door, 
The forest's children find no guiding star. 

But oh ! my country ! though neglect alone 
Were crime sufficient — deeper guilt is thine ; 

Thy sins of crimson, added to his own, 

Have crushed the savage with a weight malign. 

We seize the comforts bounteous Heaven has given, 
With strange diseases vex him from his birth ; 

We soothe his sorrows with no hopes of neaven. 
Yet drive him headlong from his home on earth. 

As shrinks the stubble from the rushing blaze, 
Or feathery snow from summer's tepid air ; 

So at our withering touch his race decays. 
By whiskey poisoned, all that war may spare. 

But can the Power, whose awful mandate rolled 
This globe abroad, and gave all nations birth ; 

Can He, the source of being, pleased behold 
A people perish from the uncumbered earth ? 



139 

No — from their slumber let the good and wise 
At Jength awaken, and their task begin ; 

Reform — enlighten — soften — christianise 
The border savage, with the paler skin. 

Then lead the wild man of the forest forth, 
With kindness lure him ; to his eye disclose 

A new creation — make him' feel the worth 
Of all industry on a land bestows. 

The page of knowledge to his view unroll, 
The charms of virtue to his mind display ; 

And open wide on his benighted soul 
The full effulgence of the Gospel Day. 



No. X. 

I went this afternoon to pay a visit to my neighbour 
Ephraim ; indeed I find his cheerful fire-side so much 
more pleasant than my own little solitary dwelling, that I 
am afraid I go there rather too often : however, as yet, I 
have not remarked any coldness or distance in their 
reception of me. Ephraim had been a little indisposed, 
and T found him reclining on the sofa ; his wife was 
preparing something comfortable for him by the fire, and 



140 

his daughter, having arranged his pillow to his mind, sat 
with her work at his feet, while Ezekiel read to him — his 
other son was engaged in superintending the business of 
the farm ; but when the hoar of tea approached, he joined 
the circle in the parlour with a smiling countenance, 
cheeks glowing with health and an appetite in no wise 
diminished by the exercise of the day. When I returned 
to my own lonely habitation, I could not avoid contrasting 
a little my situation with that of my old friend. Happy 
Ephraim ! said I, thou hast an excellent wife, and dutiful 
daughter, to smooth the pillow for thy aching head, to 
hover with feathery footsteps around thy peaceful couch, 
and watch over thy slumbers with the assiduity of anxious 
love — thou hast two manly intelligent sons to attend to 
thy business, to protect thy interests, and support thy 
tottering steps ; whose only strife is that of kindness, 
whose only rivalship, which shall be most attentive to thee ; 
each of whom would gladly say with the poet, 

"Me may the gentle office long engage, 
To rock the cradle of reposing age." 

And when at last in a good old age thou shalt- be 
gathered to thy fathers, a train of mourning relatives shall 
deposit with decent care thy cherished remains in the 
narrow house appointed for all living ; while I stand alone 
in the world, an insulated, insignificant being, for whom no 
one feels an interest, and whose pains and pleasures are of 
consequence to no one ; whose approach is greeted with no 
smile, and whose departure excites no regret ; and when 



141 



the closing scene approaches, no kindred hand shall support 
my throbbing temples, or prepare the potion for my feverish 
lips, but mercenary eyes, alone, mark, with ill-disguised 
impatience, the uncertain flutter of the lingering pulse ; 
mercenary attendants, only, receive with frigid indifierence 
the last farewell of the departing spirit — 

"By strangers' hands, my dying eyes be closed, 
By strangers' hands, my lifeless limbs composed." 

Lost in a train of such like melancholy musings, and 
pondering on the past, the present, and the future, I had 
suflfered my fire to become nearly extinguished, and the 
feeble glimmer of my untrimmed taper faintly illuminated 
my little study, when I was roused from my reverie by the 
entrance of Ezekiel and his sister. The good girl said 
she had remarked that 1 was more silent than usual, and 
as the evening was fine, they had come over to see if I 
was unwell. This little act of kindness, though in itself no 
way remarkable, yet coming at such a moment affected me 
not a little. But I must shake off" this gloom and depression 
of spirits. I am not now to learn that the world had much 
rather laugh with or at a man, than mourn with him; I 
did not sit down to lament the desolation of my own 
situation which cannot now be remedied, but to exhort the 
young to get married, to encourage them by the example 
of Ephraim, and to warn them from my own. " Do 
nothing in a hurry," is an excellent maxim in the main ; 
but in some cases it is possible to use too much deliberation. 
In the important business of taking a wife, many a man has 



142 

debated, and deliberated, until the season for acting has 
passed away. An old fellow like myself has little to do 
in the world but to talk for the benefit of his neighbours ; 
and I would willingly devote my experience to the service 
of the rising generation. I should feel no objection to 
narrate the disastrous consequences of my own superabun- 
dant caution in the affair of matrimony, and to enumerate 
the many eligible matches which have slipped through my 
fingers; the opportunities to form advantageous connections 
which have been unimproved, in consequence of my 
hesitation and indecision ; for I have now no plans to be 
defeated, or prospects blasted, by a knowledge of my 
failings, and no vanity to be mortified by the exposure of 
my disappointments ; but I am apprehensive the detail 
might prove rather tedious and uninteresting. I may 
however mention a few circumstances attending my last 
attempt to obtain an helpmate, if attempt it may be called. 
I had become acquainted in the family of a respectable 
farmer who had a daughter of a suitable age ; and though 
I cannot say that 

" Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, 
In every gesture dignity and love," 

yet her correct and orderly deportment seemed to promise 
that she would make an excellent wife : I was therefore 
pretty frequent in my visits, and though on these occasions 
my discourse was principally if not entirely addressed to 
the parents, yet I kept a sharp eye upon the daughter, in 
order to endeavour to form a tolerable estimate of her 



143 

disposition and character ; and as I had in those days a 
handsome httle estate at my own disposal, and was upon 
the whole considered rather a promising young man, my 
company seemed always very acceptable, to the father and 
mother at least. In this manner eight or ten months, 
perhaps, passed pleasantly away, and I was beginning to 
think that I might before long venture to address her with 
a little freedom and familiarity, preparatory to a serious 
negotiation, when all my plans were defeated, and my 
visionary castle crumbled into dust, by the precipitation of 
others. One evening I was sitting with them as usual, 
when after a little time, the father and mother, on some 
occasion, absented themselves from the room, and left the 
daughter and myself together; as I had not the most 
distant suspicion that there was any design in their 
movements, and expected their return every moment, I 
took up the almanac (being fond of reading), and had just 
got cleverly through it when they returned : I thought I 
remarked something particularly scrutinising in the looks 
of the mother, but I believe she soon discovered that I had 
done nothing but read the almanac. On my next visit I 
felt no small trepidation, having a strong suspicion of what 
might occur ; and, in fact, we were again soon left alone 
together — and now the consciousness of what was expected, 
kept me as silent as ignorance had done before ; in my 
distress I looked about for the almanac, but they had taken 
it away ; in vain I endeavoured to find something to say ; 
my faculties seemed spell-bound, and I sat, I know not 
how long, in a pitiable state of confusion and embarrassment, 
until my companion made some remark respecting the 



144 



weather ; this was a great relief — I immediately proceeded 
to treat of the weather in all its bearings, past, present, and 
to come, and strove to prolong the discussion until some 
one might come in, but in vain. The subject at length 
became exhausted, and silence again took place, which 
lasted so long, and became so glaringly ridiculous, that in 
utter despair, I was upon the point of having recourse to 
the weather again, when we were relieved by the entrance 
of company. Determined never again to cut so silly a 
figure, I resolved to provide against my next visit a fund 
of agreeable conversation. I accordingly brushed up my 
acquaintance with the philosophy of Aristotle, and of the 
peripatetics generally; collected some anecdotes of the wise 
men of Greece, and not to lack matters of more recent date, 
stored my memory with a few amusing particulars respect- 
ing Mary, dueen of Scots, and of the court of Elizabeth. 
Thus prepared, I ventured once more to make my appear- 
ance, but I had no opportunity to say a word about 
Aristotle or the Q,ueen of Scots ; it was rather late when I 
entered the room, and I found my intended in earnest 
conversation with a young man, who had drawn his chair 
very near to her: their discourse seemed to be of an 
interesting nature, but they spoke in so low a tone that I 
was unable to profit by their remarks. I observed, at last, 
that they frequently smiled when looking towards me, and 
as I love a cheerful countenance, and smiling is certainly 
contagious, I smiled a good deal too ; this seemed wonder- 
fully to promote their risibility, and my laughter increasing 
in the same proportion, we had a deal of merriment, 
although little or nothing was said. How long this might 



145 

have continued, I know not, had not my intended father- 
in-law called me aside, and hinted that as the nio-ht was 
dark, and there was some appearance of rain, 1 had perhaps 
better return. I thanked him for his truly paternal care, 
and accordingly took my departure in high good humour, 
and the next week was informed that the young people 
were married. 



19 



146 



FOR AN ALBUM. 



To scenes sequestered from the world's applause, 

In vain the Lily of the Vale withdraws, 

In vain to veil, with graceful bend, she tries, 

Her snowy bosom from th' enraptured gaze, 
In vain she bids protecting foliage rise — 

Surrounding sweetness her retreat betrays. 

iSo, though o'ershadowed by misfortune's gloom. 
Through time, obscurely may the good, man move- 

His blameless life ascends a sweet perfume. 
And angels view him with the smiles of love. 



147 



PETER'S RIDE TO THE WEDDING. 

WRITTEN FOR THE AMUSEMENT OF A CHILD. 

Peter would go to the wedding, he would, 

So he saddled his ass — and his wife ; 
She was to ride behind, if she could, 
For says Peter, says he, " the woman she should 

Follow, not lead, through life. 

" He 's mighty convenient, the ass, my dear, 

And gentle and safe, and now 
You stick by the tail, while I stick by the ear, 
And we '11 get to the wedding in time, never fear. 

If the wind and the weather allow." 

The wind and the weather were not to be blamed. 

But the ass, he had let in a whim, 
That two at a time was a load never framed 
For the back of one ass, and he seemed quite ashamed 

That two should be stuck upon him. 

" Come, Dobbin," says Peter, " I 'm thinking we '11 trot :" 

" I 'm thinking we wont," says the ass, 
(In the language of conduct,) and stuck to the spot. 
As though he had said he had sooner be shot. 

Than lift up a toe from the grass. 



148 

Says Peter, says he, " I '11 whip him a little ;" 

" Try it, my dear," says she : 
But he might just as well have whipped a brass kettle, 
The ass he was made of such obstinate mettle 

That never a step moved he. 

" I '11 prick him, my dear, with a needle — the steel 

May possibly alter his mind;" 
The ass felt the needle, and up went his heel, 
" I 'm thinking," says Peter, " he 's seeming to feel 

Some notion of moving behind." 

" Now give me the needle, I '11 tickle his ear, 

And set t'other end, too, a going;" 
The ass felt the needle, and upwards he reared. 
But kicking and rearing were all, it appeared, 

He had any intention of doing. 

Says Peter, says he, " We are getting on slow, 

While one end is up, t'other sticks to the ground. 
But I 'm thinking a method to match him I know. 
We '11 let, for an instant, both tail and ear go, 
And spur him at once all around." 

So said so done — all hands were a spurring, 

And the ass he did alter his mind — 
For off went he, like a partridge whirring, 
And got to the wedding while all were a stirring, 

But — left his load behind. 



149 



REFLECTIONS. 

Awake, thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give 
thee light." 

To those who are awake — for there are those 
Who sleep — and whose repose is so profound 
The vapours of this world have so obscured 
Their vision of futurity, and thrown 
Such midnight darkness o'er the realm of thought, 
They scarce will waken, till the thrilling peal 
Of the last trumpet, tells that time 's no more. 

To those who are awake, and who have weighed 

The worth of temporal, and eternal things, 

Who view this present transient mode of being 

As but the infancy of life eternal. 

The morning of a never-ending day ; 

And this fair world, with all its checkered scenes 

Of sunshine and of shade — of joy and sorrow — 

As but a school of discipline, to train 

The immortal spirit for its final home : 

To these, how frivolous and futile seem 

The fleeting joys, the transitory cares, 

The fears and wishes terminating here. 

The idols of the sleepers — wealth, fame, power, 



150 

In senseless worship at whose crimsoned shrine, 
Thousands have offered, and are hourly offering 
All that can make existence worth possessing, 
Peace here, and future everlasting bliss, 
They rate at their true value — worthless toys — 
Baubles of full-grown children — shadowy dreams. 
Luring the soul from its high destination 
And whelming all its noblest hopes in dust. 

Yes, there are those who sleep — as though secure 
Their dream would last for ever — beings destined 
For an eternity of bliss or wo, — 
Are slumbering through the hour of their probation. 
As though it were indeed an endless sleep — 
Wrapping themselves in darkness, they have built 
A wall of brass between their souls and heaven. 
And lo ! Time passes with impetuous pinion. 
Wide yawns the grave, and Death is on his way, 
And the last trump may rouse them but to hear 
The righteous Judge of quick and dead, pronounce 
The eternal doom — " Depart, I know ye not !" 

O that these slumberers in Egyptian darkness 
Might yet behold the star of Bethlehem rise ! 
And turn and listen to the still small voice 
That whispers to the soul — "wake, thou that sleepest. 
Rise from the dead, and Christ shall sfive thee ligfht." 



'&' 



To him who is awake — who bears in mind 
His origin, and nature, and the purpose 



151 



For which Almighty Goodness placed him here, 

Who feels his own unworthiness, and mourns 

O'er the sad record of departed years, 

The appaling catalogue of sins committed, 

Duties neglected — talents misapplied. 

Of slighted mercies, and of wasted time ; 

How infinitely awful is the prospect 

Of that eventful, fast-approaching hour. 

When all things here must vanish from his view— 

What fearful scenes of everlasting moment 

Crowd on his vision, and distract his soul ! 

A fading world — a disembodied spirit ! 

A final judgment — an eternal doom ! 

And scarcely hoping that the faltering prayer 

May yet be noticed, all that he can utter 

Is, God be merciful to me a sinner ! 

For well he knows that He, the eternal One, 

Hath other attributes than that of mercy. 

And that howe'er unwelcome the reflection, 

" A God all mercy were a God unjust J^ 

To him how precious the consoling tidings 
That help is laid on One who died to save ! 
In whom the fulness of the Godhead dwells ; 
Who, led by Love, to appease offended Justice, 
Became himself the sacrifice for sin. 
Nailing offences to his cross, and giving 
Eternal life to all who come to him ; 
O ! well may those who take his yoke upon them, 
Whose yoke is easy, and his burden light, 



162 

Exclaim, in tones of grateful exultation, 
" O Grave ! where is thy victory ? O Death ! where is thy 
sting ?" 

O Holy One ! thy ransomed and redeemed 
May well regard thee with adoring love, 
For pardon purchased with thy precious blood, 
And mansions promised in the realms of bliss : 
And oh ! discarded every selfish thought. 
Well may they love thee for thyself alone ; 
Desiring to be any thing, or nothing. 
As most accordant to thy holy will ; 
Lost, like the rain-drop in the unfathomed ocean. 
Their souls may long to be absorbed in thee ! 
Loving, because they are constrained to love thee. 
Drawn to thy feet by motives such as lead 
The tottering infant to its father's arms ; 
Loving, because it is delight to love thee ; 
Believing, though not seeing, and rejoicing 
With joy unspeakable, and full of glory. 



163 



STANZAS. 

When I look round, and see the love, the care. 
Of boundless goodness fill the smiling land, 

Existence spread through ocean, earth, and air. 
And heauly lavished with exhaustless hand. 

Can I pass on "with brute unconscious gaze," 

Nor with one faltering accent whisper praise? 

From those bright orbs, which, through the realm of space. 

Pursue, majestic, their unvarying way. 
Down through creation, far as man may trace 

Of power almighty the sublime display : 
All that I see and feel, combine to prove, 
That power is governed by unbounded love. 

What vivid hues the floral tribes adorn ! 

What fragrance floats upon the gales of even ! 
What floods of radiance gild the unfolding morn ! 

And dazzling splendour gems the midnight heaven ! 
What glorious scenes on every hand impart 
A glow of transport to the untainted heart ! 

How sweet, though transient, man ! thy tarriance here, 
If peace around thee spread her cheering rays, 

If conscience whispers in thy trembling ear 
No tale unpleasing of departed days, 
20 



154 

Then smile exulting at tlie lapse ol time 
Which wafts thee gently to a happier clime. 

Saw'st thou the worm his humble path pursue, 
To varied dangers, doubts, and fears, a prey ? 

Joy in his cup some sweet ingredients threw. 
But dai'kness snatched him from the treat away ; 

The poor chrysalis, in his lonely grave, 

Seemed sinking hopeless in oblivion's wave. 

But lo ! what magic bursts the dreary tomb ! 

What voice angelic bids the sleeper rise f 
He wakes, arrayed in beauty's living bloom, 

His new-born plumage tinged with rainbow dyes ;; 
In air gay floating, while the sunbeam flings 
A blaze of splendour o'er his glossy wings. 

Thy emblem this ! for death must quickly hide 

This fair creation from thy raptured eye ; 
Thy fragile form, to the poor worm allied, 

Cold and unconscious in the grave must lie ;, 
But can the shackles of the tomb control 
This active spirit, this aspiring soul ? 

No ! there are worlds, in bloom immortal drest^ 
Where love divine in full effulgence glows, 

Where, safely centered in eternal rest. 
Departed spirits of the good repose ; 

With powers enlarged their Maker's works explore. 

And find, thro' endless years, new cause to wonder and adore. 



155 



TO A, B, C, <fe CO. 



Ye wee bit, crooked things ! I mind 
The time when first I spied your faces, 

And found — no trifling job to find — 

That I must learn your names and places. 

My grandsire, with well-meaning care, 
Bore me to where the mistress she was 

Hard at ye — but naught fancying there, 
I was at home as soon as he was. 

't was a most unsavoury measure, 
To take a weentie, small as me, 

From all his young heart knew of pleasure. 
And bind him down to A, B, C. 

1 liked ye not — I '11 ne'er deny it — 

And did my best the dose to shun. 

But scolded, flattered, shamed, to try it, 

Ye all were swallowed, one by one. 



156 

For ye are pills that every wee thing, 
Is, will he, nill he, doomed to take, 

Like measles, itch, small-pox, or teething, 
Whate'er wry faces he may make. 

And now I love ye well, I'm thinking. 
Acquaintance wears disgust away ; 

Even smoking, hanging, snuffing, drinking, 
But few admire at first, they say. 

Aye ! and at times my bosom feels 
Some pity for the life ye 're leading, 

By blockheads gripit, neck and heels, 
And twisted into wretched reading. 

In dead born volumes— never read — 
From age to age ye lumbering lie. 

Where old housekeeping spiders spread 
Their bits of weaving out to dry. 

And oft in flimsy novels worn. 

Till folk may see ye through and through, 
And oft by reckless urchins torn, 

For they must have their novels too. 

O books ! books ! books ! — it makes me sick 
To think me how ye 're multiplied ; 

Like Egypt's frogs, ye poke up thick 
Your ugly heads on every side. 



157 

If a youn^ thought but shake its ear, 
Or wag its tail, though starved it look, 

The world the precious news must hear, 
The presses groan, and lo ! a Book. 

Some busy trifler travels — dies — 
Commits a murder, plays or sings — 

Makes silly speeches, gathers flies, 

Or rhymes — and forth a volume springs ! 

A host of worthies, stimulated 

By hope of pudding or of praise. 
Serve up, for stomachs sick and sated, 

Their vapid flummery fifty ways. 

O, if one half — and may be t' other. 

Were fairly in the Red Sea tost, 
And left with Pharaoh's host to smother. 

Little worth keeping would be lost. 

However we may find, no doubt. 

Some crumbs of comfort — and we need 'em : 
Knowing, we are, though books come out, 

Not absolutely forced to read 'em. 

Aweel, poor things ! ye mind me, too. 

Of blessed hours for ever past, 
When o'er life's morning fresh and new, 

The star of joy its radiance cast. 



168 

When dear delusive hope exposed 
Her rainbow-tinted scenes before me, 

And those loved eyes that death has closed, 
Watched with parental fondness o'er me. 

But hold ; we 've doubtless shown a sample, 

Sufficient, of our tediousness, 
And now must set a good example, 

By thinking more, and scribbling less. 



159 



TO A TOAD IN A STRAWBERRY BED. 

IN THE MANNER OF SOME MODERN SONNETS. 

What varied charms adorn thy dwelling, toad ! 

The breath of fragrance all around thee spread — 
Luxuriant foHage veils thy cool abode, 

And crimson clusters shade thy auburn head. 

Encircling sweets invite thy dubious lip, 
Soft breezes lull thee to serene repose, 

And liquid crystal tempts thy tongue to sip 
The dew-drop falling from the unfolding rose. 

Child of the dust, then ! while thou may'st partake, 
Enjoy thy blessings, while the power is thine, 

For ere an hour rolls by, some hungry snake. 
For aught I know, shall on thy carcass dine. 



160 
TO MY TREES, 

ON WALKING IN MY WOODLANDS. 

Ye laugh, ye rogues ! to see me walkin' 
Among ye now, an' wag your heads ; 

You've heard, nae doubt, there's so much talkin', 
I've got me coal from Lehigh beds. 

Aye, ye may see me saunterin' under 
Your branches now without a fear ; 

I come not now your ranks to plunder — 
Ye may laugh on another year. 

I like, right weel, to see ye growin' 

Like brethren, pleasantly together 
All, sheltering each when winds are blowin', 

Or drouth prevails in swelter in' weather, 

r like, right weel, to see ye shakin' 

Your glossy foliage high in air. 
And hear the breeze and birdies makin' 

A joyous din of music there. 

I hke, right weel, to wander near ye, 

When the storm grappleth with your boughs ; 

And yet not over nigh, for fear ye 

Might let some cracked one crack my brows. 



161 

Yes, lads ! I'm thinkin' not to burn ye — 
The inky chunks Mauch Chunk produces 

Will, may be, warm — and let me turn ye, 
When ripe in age, to other uses. 

I '11 not just say for what I '11 take ye — 
My wife will hang her claes to dry,- 

An' want twa posts — an^ 1 may make me 
A pen to hold the pig an' kye ; 

An' should the public take a whim 
To hang a banking rogue or twa,* 

Ye '11 no object to lend a limb 
For sic a purpose, any day. 

Ye need na all be hangin' trees— 

An' yet the observer might not wrang us,- 

Who should suppose, from what he sees, 
Such wood is wanted much amang us. 

Well, fare ye weel ; but this I' 11 tell ye--^ 
If these coal-heavers hold so high 

Their stuff, I may be fain to sell ye. 
To get wherewith that stuif to buy. 

* Several banks had stopped payment about thai time. 



21 



162 



SCRAPS FROM MY PORT FOLIO. 



"Now, Timothy, don't be always poring over them 
wearisome papers and accounts," said Experience, " there 's 
never no use in such an everlasting worrying about what 
can't be helped ; but if you must be writing, do write 
something to the purpose — write to the steamboat folks 
about another season ticket ; time's going on." " Why my 
dear," says I, " there is perhaps, as thou say'st, no great 
use in worrying about what cannot be remedied, but these 
same papers afford me some little amusement, rather a 
scarce article with me now-a-days ; they are mementos of 
many mistakes and mishaps, it is true, but they remind 
me also of by-gone hours of quietness and comfort ; and 
when the reality is gone, the recollection is better than 
nothing ; however, possibly, I may write somewhat about 
the steamboat." " Oh, well then," says she, " I '11 just tell 
Biddy to let Seraphina know that we shall be in town as 
soon as possible. I am extremely anxious to see her and 
the cliildren, and I'm afraid if she don't get word immedi- 
ately, they'll be all here first." "Well then. Experience, 
as thou art only anxious to see them, omit sending word, 
and peradventure it may come to pass without thy being 
obliged to leave home." "It may peradventure come to 



163 



pass," said she ; " yes, I suppose it may come to pass, but I 
don't want it to come to pass, and it sha'nt come to pass — 
why it will be warm weather directly, and then they must 
all come into the country after the air, you know ; and 
then what chance, I wonder, will Biddy and I have of 
getting to town before every thing is frozen up, and the 
steamboat done again." Seeing she seemed to be getting 
a little warm, and knowing her to be somewhat tonguey 
at times, I thought it best to drojD the subject, and quietly 
turn to my writing. This Seraphina, that Experience 
was so anxious to see, was Seraphina Adelina Snipitoff, 
wife of our cousin Moses Snipitoff, pretty largely in the 
man-milliner and variety line : they were originally merely 
Snipits, but some years back Seraphina, being a great 
admirer of the emperor Alexander, insisted that Moses 
should put what she called a " Russian extermination" to 
his name, and accordingly they became Snipitoffs. Our 
family name is Goadenough, and its origin, like most 
others of much antiquity, is involved in some obscurity ; 
but it was probably given to my ancestor, as being some- 
what descriptive of his activity in business, and the 
liberality with which he applied the stimulus of the goad 
to his cattle, allowing little grass to grow under them when 
at labour. Be this as it may, my immediate predecessors 
were certainly industrious, pains-taking, prudent people, 
carefully looking both before and after, and consequently 
became well to live in the world ; so I am one of those 
whose father, as the saying is, was born before him; not 
that I inherited sufficient to enable me to live in idleness, 
had I been silly enough to wish it, but I had a handsome 



164 



beginning, and with the aid of my wife was getting along 
tolerably well ; I say with the aid of my wife, for I find that 
without that aid, little can be done to purpose. Some time 
after Experience became intimate with Seraphina, she 
discovered that our name had a vulgar, disagreeable, 
uncouth sort of a sound, and endeavoured to soften and 
civilise it, as she said, into Goodenough. " No, no, said 
I, it is ill tampering with a creditable name, and unhappily 
we are far enough from good enough ; but if there must 
be an alteration, I'm thinking that Gadenough might not 
be amiss, considering thy present habits." 

Since then we have had, occasionally, squabbles on this 
point, but the matter has never been definitively settled. 
For many years we led a peaceful and contented, if not a 
happy, life. Experience, though perhaps her price was not 
above rubies, was certainly an active, bustling woman j 
our daughter Biddy was cheerful at her sewing, or her 
wheel ; and my son Marmaduke and I, after moderate 
labour, enjoyed with genuine relish our frugal meal and 
untroubled slumber, and we might possibly have passed 
thus pleasantly on to the termination of our pilgrimage, 
but for a summer visitation, which our cousins, the aforesaid 
SnipitofFs, inflicted upon us in pursuit of air. By the way, 
I may observe, that one might be led to suppose there was 
in summer, little or no air to be found in the city, and no 
sun nor dust in the country. Formerly, some over-fed 
nabob, perhaps, laden with more wealth and pomposity 
than was convenient in the dog-days, might disencumber 
himself a little at a watering place ; and now and then a 



165 

rickety infant, hardly worth raising, but which did not 
choose to die, and which the town doctors were tired of 
seeing, would be sent off to the country ; otherwise, little 
was done in this way, except indeed the praiseworthy 
sabbath-day "incursions," as Seraphina says, of a numerous 
class, to the habitations of such of their acquaintance as 
were, unluckily, near enough, and vain enough, and good- 
humoured enough, to be eaten up, and laughed at. 
But now, thanks to the all-accommodating steamboat, no 
sooner can the weather with any decency be called warm, 
than away they scour — not only the female appendages of 
the important man of law, or physic, or merchandise, but 
those also of the eleventh deputy of his fifteenth clerk, are 
all ofi' in quest of air. But to return : Seraphina Adelina 
SnipitofF and her daughters were dashing, showy person- 
ages, and this important visitation made no small stir 
amongst us ; it is true, the hours they kept grievously 
interrupted our business, and deranged the regularity of 
the family. The morning was commonly half gone, and 
my appetite with it, before they were ready for breakfast; 
this, of course, caused a like postponement of dinner, and 
so on to the end of the chapter. However, we put a good 
face upon the matter ; Experience was determined to do 
every thing genteelly, and, upon the whole, succeeded 
wonderfully. I remember one morning, among the other 
arrangements equally judicious, she ordered Sip to tidy 
himself and wait upon table ; accordingly, after some time 
he made his appearance, his black face glistening with 
soap-suds, and a bit of white garter round his hat ; and 
taking a chair, sat kicking his heels for a while tolerably 



166 



patient, but finding no immediate call for his services, " I 
'most think, aunt," said he, "if I ben't wanted partiklar, 
I 'd as good turn out the cows — 'um seems mortal imeasy, 
somehow." " Turn out the cows," said I, '-'at this time of 
day ! why have they been left starving so long?" " Why 
'cause I had to go down to the squire's to see if Madam 
Coramnoby couldn't no how lend some silver notions to 
put on the table while the quality staid, 'cause you see our 
few dabs be as old as the hills, and battered out of all rea- 
son, in a manner ; and then Molly sent me over to old 
Marcy Scrubwell's for a taste of butter, 'cause our'n was 
over garlicky and saft-like for the quality." "Well," said 
I, "could not somebody else turn them out?" "Why 
Molly said how she would do it, but she got in such a 
fumigation washin' Biddy's t'other white frock and aunt's 
cap, as 'em might dry agin a'ternoon, she clean forgot, 
seemingly." 

I had sown a field of grain, and it was important to 
harrow it in immediately, more especially as the weather 
looked threatening ; but in the afternoon the white frock 
and the cap were exhibited, sure enough, and the Snipitoffs 
must take a ride, exercise being in demand as well as air ; 
accordingly the horses were taken from the harrow, a floo^ 
of rain came, and it was impracticable to finish the job till 
too late — so the crop was lost. These rides were sadly in 
the way of our farming operations, but they were at length 
luckily put an end to. Experience, it seems, had heard 
from our visiters some hints about the roughness and vul- 
garity of our family wagon ; she therefore made Sip get 



167 



the ancient, rickety, brick-dust coach from the out-house, 
where it had stood ever since lawyer Spinitout's vendue, 
when it was bought for the sake of the old iron, and they 
sallied forth accordingly in this " more genteeler ekipage," 
as Seraphina said ; but they had not journeyed many 
miles, broiled with heat and half choked with dust, look- 
ing after "romantical sitivations suitable for potery and 
skitching," as the young ladies said, when a sudden jolt 
broke down the hind seat, and let Experience and Sera- 
phina into the box, where two old hens and a Muscovy 
duck were quietly sitting on their eggs, and which Sip, in 
his hurry to throw on the lid, had overlooked. The 
screams of the women, and the cackling and fluttering of 
the fowls, alarmed the horses, and away they went — and 
the old coach, and Sip, and the Snipitotfs, and the poultry, 
and Experience, came flying home, after a fashion seldom 
witnessed in our neighbourhood. 

Seraphina was a voluble, conversable woman, having a 
notable gift of the gab, as the saying is, and she made free 
use of her gift. She did not speak three thousand pro- 
verbs, nor treat of creeping things and fishes, but she held 
forth abundantly on visitings, and fashionable parties, and 
fashionable dresses, and Broadway, and "promenation on 
the battery," and "incursions on the water," and "genteel 
sesiety," and " pittyresk sinery," and I know not what ; to 
hear all which. Experience 

"Did most seriously incline j" 



168 



and the effect of these precious communications was such 
as might be expected from the wisdom of the recipient. 
The commendable qualities of my wife were rather acci- 
dental than otherwise, and her domestic habits being 
infixed little more than skin deep, were of course quickly 
eradicated ; gentility and discontent crept into my house- 
hold, and quietness and comfort crept out ; and visitations 
to the city, and visitations from the city, fully occupied 
the time of Experience and Biddy; and even honest 
Marmaduke became infected with the prevailing mania. 
When they were engaged in preparations to return the 
aforementioned visitation of our cousins, the wearisome 
turnings, and cuttings, and bleachings, and starchings, and 
clappings, put the whole family in commotion. In all this 
I took little interest; but happening one day to pass through 
a room unexpectedly, I found Biddy standing with a strap 
passed around her waist, and Sip at one end, and Molly at 
the other, pulling in opposite directions, till Sip grinned 
from ear to ear, and Molly seemed in no small perspiration ; 
and at every pull Experience secured what they had 
gained, by passing large pins through a canvass wrapper. 
Now Experience and I are pretty portly people, rather 
bulky than otherwise, and Biddy, having enjoyed good 
health and a good appetite, naturally took after us in 
this particular. " Abomination," said I, for 1 was surprised 
OLit of my usual moderation, " what are ye about with the 
girl ?" " Oh nothing, father," panted out Biddy, for she 
could hardly speak, "I'm only getting ready for my corsets." 
" Getting ready for thy coffin, poor simpleton, I fancy," said 
1. " Nonsense," said Experience ; " now don't discourage 



169 

the child, Timothy ; she bears taking up very well so far, 
considering, and there 's no use talking about it ; how 
would she look, I wonder, among the genteel people in 
the steamboat, with half an acre of waist? she must be 
tight ; every body 's tight ; I shall take up myself a little, 
though may be not lessen my capacity so soon after 
dinner." "Instead of taking up thy tabernacle, Expe- 
rience," said I, " it might be well if thou would take up 
more commendable resolutions ; and as to thy capacity, I 
believe few think it needs lessening ; however, if Biddy is 
to be squeezed to death, better do it at once, than mangle 
her after this sort ; let Marmaduke put her under one of 
the screws of the cider press, and take a turn or two with 
the old mare, and she'll soon be genteel enough !" But 
my opposition availed little ; the preparations went on — 
the visit was paid ; and, when they returned, I was not a 
little shocked with the appearance of the group. Biddy, 
by perseverance in starvation and lacing, had succeeded 
in screwing her waist into a nothingness truly wonderful ; 
it fairly gave me the stomach-ache to look at her ; and she 
carried on her head a frightful affair, as much like our big 
pewter dish upside down as any thing I can just now 
think of. She was, in short, so thoroughly transmogritied, 
that even the old cow, that she had milked hundreds of 
times, stared at her with amazement, and seemed to be 
altogether in a quandary as to what she might be ; and poor 
httle Experience Seraphina Adehna Snipitoif Goadenough, 
our youngest daughter, appeared to be nearly frozen : it 
was a raw, piercing day, and she had nothing on her 
arms but a strip of rag over each shoulder. " Why, my 
22 



170 

lamb," said I, " art thou not almost perished ?" " O yes, 
pa," said she, " I'm^all goose flesh." " Ah, my dear," said 
I, " I wish there was not a greater goose in the house; thou 
art only a goose outwardly, whereas" — but happening to 
look round I espied Experience, and did not think it 
needful to pursue the discourse any further. I have 
already remarked that Marmaduke had also become 
infected with the prevailing disease, the mania of gentility. 
I had suspected this for some time before he ventured 
to ask me, after some coughing and stammering, whether 
I did not think he might as well try to get into business. 
" Get into business, my son," said I, "why art thou not in 
business already? — a cultivator of the earth — the busi- 
ness of the first man in paradise, and out of it ; a business 
advocated by the good and wise of all ages ; a business by 
which Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, became rich and 
great?" I had got upon a favourite subject, and might 
probably have continued the discourse for some time, but 
was stopped by Experience, who had overheard us. " As 
to what Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, did," said she, " it 
is neither here nor there ; if they made money by farming, 
pork and flour must have fetched a better price then than 
now : 'tis like there might have been a French war, or a 
hurricane in the West Indies, or a scarcity in Ireland, or 
something else uncommon, to raise the price ; but for a 
young man like our Marmaduke to go for to slave his life 
out in raising things that won't sell for nothing, 'tis a 
shame. Look at the gentlemen that go up and down in the 
steanjboat ; they don't look as if they had been creeping 
twelve hours a day after a plough. No ; they follow 



171 

something more genteeler, and more profitabler too, I guess, 
or they could n't afford to be always coasting about so." 
" Yes," said I, " I have looked at these same gentlemen tra- 
vellers, and a wearisome sight it is to behold the crowds of 
idlers continually passing to and fro; and in such extreme 
haste, too, that boilers must be heated to the verge of explo- 
sion, and horses lashed with savage severity, when in all 
likelihood the sole business of one half of them, on arriving 
at the place of destination, is to return again ; but as to 
Marmaduke's business, if it must be so, the first thing 
needful is a small capital. I should not mind selling the 
field over the road — it is rather unhandy, and might be 
spared." " Selling the old worn-out field !" said Expe- 
rience; "and who, I wonder, would buy it? No — borrow 
at once a handsome sum, and mortgage the farm ; Marma- 
duke's profits will soon enable us to repay it, and we shall 
keep the property unbroken." This advice seemed to be 
palatable ; however, the truth is, that, whether palatable 
and reasonable or not, the advice of Experience is com- 
monly sure to prevail. The money was borrowed, and my 
son established in business, in connection with Marcus 
Junius Snipitoff, the son of our cousin Moses. Experience 
was now in her element; what with visitations to Sera- 
phina, and the superintendence of Marmaduke's establish- 
ment, she was ever on the go, and her time too fully 
occupied to attend to her own domestic affairs, which 
prospered accordingly. However, as to poor Marmaduke, 
his establishment, as indeed might have been foreseen, soon 
came to an " extermination," as Seraphina says. Whether 
young Snipitoff snipped off more of the common stock 



172 

than was commendable, I know not; certain it is that the 
whole soon vanished Uke the " base fable of a vision," as 
Seraphina says, and I was glad to escape from the wreck 
with the loss of half my estate. Having been benefited 
so little in my own case, by the facility of intercourse and 
the multiplication of the means of indulging a gadding 
disposition, it may be supposed that I regard with no par- 
ticular complacency the efforts that are malting to scatter 
these conveniences over our country in every direction, 
insomuch that in a short time an honest man may hardly 
be able to stir about his lawful business, without danger of 
tumbling into a canal or breaking his shins over a railway. 
However, I oppose them not ; these excavations and con- 
structions will doubtless fill for a time "the mouth of 
labour," let the pockets of the projector and stockholder 
fare as they may ; and my learned old friend Alexander 
Scraggletop Barelikit, the schoolmaster — formerly of Muc- 
klestonechoakthrapple, in Aberdeenshire, says, that " anent 
thae v/arks, he has nae doot in his ain privat mind but 
that, by farcelitatin' intercoorse, they may ten' to devilloup 
our resoorces, an' gie muckle exheeliration to the march of 
ceevelisation in the oot-lyin' wildernesses." 

DeSUNT C^TE^lA. 

1828. 



173 



WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF A YOUNG FRIEND. 



Mind thy own business, — this perhaps may seem 
Language unmeet for such a page as this- — 

But 'tis no trifling business, and I deem 
Advice to mind it at no time amiss. 

Mind thy own business — thou hast time assigned thee, 

And all-important labour to be done ; 
Let not the shadows of the evening find thee, 

And this great work perhaps not yet begun. 

Mind thy own business — then, as it flies o'er thee, 
Shall every moment smiles approving wear ; 

Eternity's vast ocean roll before thee 

Serene — and peace attend thy progress there. 



174 



[A number of small engravings for one of his young relatives were 
sent to the author, with a request that he would write something appropriate 
to each. He returned them with the following pieces, but without any 
view to publication,] 

ON A PICTURE OF A CHILD FALLING FROM A BOAT 
INTO THE WATER. 

Along old Ocean's shelving side 

With eager step the plovers roam, 
And with parental care provide 

For their loved nestlinofs safe at home. 

O'er the blue waters, high in air, 

The wild duck squadrons ride the gale. 

While others, tired of sporting there. 
On dancing billows, joyous, sail. 



But who is he — yon wretched child ? 

Down headlong, from his tottering boat, 
To death descending, dark and wild 

The waters soon shall o'er him float. 



Perhaps, but late, a mother's arm 

Was flung in doating fondness round him. 

Perhaps her love, foreseeing harm, 

Warned him to shim the fate that found him. 



175 

O ! had that warning voice prevailed, 
Then might he, in maturer years. 

O'er many a distant sea have sailed. 

Nor " steeped a parent's couch in tears." 



ANOTHER ILLUSTRATION OF THE SAME SUBJECT. 

On the shore killdeers were trying 

To surprise a worm or two — 
Over head the crows were flying, 

A dingy and discordant crew. 

Peter sauntered by the river — 
Geese were swimming on the tide, 

" Ho !" said Peter, " that's a clever, 
Cool, and easy way to ride." 

In the boat he got, to paddle. 

Leaning careless o'er the prow — 
" Now," said Peter, " neighbour Waddle, 

I'm as great a goose as thou." 

The geese would often dip for sweeter 

Grass, that on the bottom grew — 
" I can dip, I guess," said Peter, 

" Head and ears, as well as you." 



176 

Down he dipped, but in the endeavour, 

Gave the boat a luckless turn. 
And (what he contemplated never,) 

Over went his whole concern. 

Ah ! thought a goose who watched the motion, 
(Perhaps) with no unwilling eyes — 

" Thou art over, Peter, I 've a notion, 
But doubt thy being over wise." 



FOR A WINTER SCENE ON A FARM. 

Winter rules, in turn, the year, 
White with snow the fields appear. 
In his barn, the farmer now 
Views, well pleased, his loaded mow, 
And, sheltered from the stormy gale. 
Plies the far resounding flail ; 
While beside the door the kine 
On the fragrant clover dine. 
Or on beds of straw recline. 

Farther ofl" the feathered race, 
Seek their 'customed feeding place, 
And await their dole of grain, — 
Do not let them wait in vain. 



177 

Thou 'rt a favoured child of Heaven, 

But not exclusively its care ; 
Let the bounty God has given 

His inferior creatures share. 

But yonder idlers, in the sleigh, 
Had better fall to honest labour, 

Than tire their horses, waste a day, 

And hinder some industrious neighbour. 



FOR AN AUTUMNAL SCENE. 

Where cultured ridges wide extend, 
The careful farmer strews the grain. 

In humble hope that Heaven may send 
The early and the latter rain. 

That, favoured thus, another year 
May many a ripened ear supply 
For those dear young ones, sporting near 
With buoyant kite ascending high. 
And to those dear ones, be it known, 
Though kites, at seasons, may be flown, 
Yet work must take its turn — the day 
Must not be wasted all in play. 
23 



-^ 






178 

And let the farmer, too, reflect 

That there are other seeds to scatter 

In these young minds — and not neglect. 
For transient things, this weightier matter. 

The seeds of knowledge — love of truth, 
And virtuous fame, implanted there, 

And nurtured in the spring of youth. 
May haply fruit immortal bear. 



FOR A SHIP UNDER FULL SAIL. 

From the rude plank, on which adventurous man 
First dared the waters, in pursuit of food. 
Or haply to approach some neighbouring isle, 
Whose spicy groves, and sweet retiring vales, 
Lay, flower-enameled, on the smiling sea — 
From that rude plank to this majestic ship. 
How great the change ! how wond'rous an effect, 
Produced by human industry and skill ! 
A tie connecting the remotest shores 
Of the green earth — a bridge around the world ! 
Behold ! how gracefully she sits — expanding 
Her canvass pinions to the swelling breeze ! 
But should the storm awake, and the vexed waters. 



179 



Roused into rage, in fearful mountains rise, 
Onward she dashes through the wild commotion ; 
Yet, mid this elemental war, obeys 
The slightest intimation of her helm, — 
An object scarcely noticed, yet controlling 
The varied movements of the vast machine. 

So let " a word* behind thee" govern thine, 
Through all the countless incidents of life. 
Whenever conscience whispers in thy ear 
" This is the way" — although a world should rise 
In opposition — let that way be thine. 

* And thine ears shall hear a word behind thee, saying, " this is the way, 
walk ye in it," when ye turn to the right hand, and when ye turn to the left. 

Isaiah, ch. xxx, v. 21. 



180 



ON READING WORDSWORTH'S "EXCURSION," 

London large quarto edition. 

"WRITTEN AFTER TUE MANNER OF THAT AUTHOR. 

Specimen of an Unpxihlished Work, without a Name, written 
on a Nameless Occasion. 

BOOK FIRST. 

The book's half ended, and I'm well pleased, 
Not with the book exclusively — but that 
It is half ended — an unwieldy volume, 
Like other ponderous thing, is wearisome. 
And this seems heavy in more ways than one ; 
Now I do mightily affect a book 
Of such convenient and minute dimension 
As may be held between the thumb and finger. 
And read reclining in an elbowchair. 

A great book, some one said, is a great evil ; 
But when the book is half made up of margin, 
The evil is in that proportion lessened ; 
Thanks to the London printers, who provide 
A comfortable breadth of vacant paper, 
On which the mind may rest itself, fatigued 
With the bewildering simpleiiess that creepeth, 
Turbid and deep sometimes, and sometimes shallow, 



181 

With even pace through the capacious page, 
Like a dark gutter through a field of snow. 

And who knows, said I to myself, but I 

Might also make a book? — a goodly quarto; 

The world is full of readers, patient souls, 

Who may endure my tediousness, perhaps. 

As well as that of others : I'll afflict 'em 

With a few lines, by way of specimen. 

And thus they may begin :— I gat me up 

And washed my hands and face, and ate my breakfast, 

And combed my head, — I use the common parlance 

Because 'tis common, though it is improper— 

For I did comb my hair, and not my head ; 

And this I did before I ate my breakfast, 

And should have so recorded it, for events 

Of any moment should be chronicled 

Precisely in the order of their occurrence ; — 

But let that pass. Well, I did eat my breakfast, 

And then I sate me in my elbowchair. 

And gazed most intently at the window ; 

But, though my eyes were on the window fixed, 

I noted not the outward forms of things. 

Or aught enacting in the external world ; — 

No — in profound abstraction I did gaze 

Into the " dun obscure" of my own mind, 

If haply I might spy and seize for use 

Some tiny straggler of the ideal world : 

But gazed on vacancy — for nought was there. 

Even so abideth in a barn an owl, 



182 



The bird of wisdom, and with look sedate 
Watcheth — and he, too, watcheth oft in vain 
For the small cattle that inhabit there. 
Faring thus meagerly, I walked me forth 
To inhale the freshness of the morning air. 
And read the features of surrounding things : 
So, other wise men, when their homes are rendered 
By whatsoever cause uncomfortable, 
Direct their meditative steps abroad. 

I love not early morning walks — I love not 
To get my feet wet ; and the bard who wrote 
The silly trash of brushing dew away 
To see the sun rise, hardly knew, I fancy. 
What dew was made of, or the vile effect 
That frequent soaking hath upon shoe leather ; 
And yet he was a man who might have known. 
Once in his life, perhaps, unlike the run 
Of bards, the comfort of a pair of shoes. 
Well, I did walk me down a quiet lane, 
In which was little to distract the thoughts 
Of the wayfaring man, or lead him forth 
From deep and dark communion with himself: 
It was not a green lane — a grassy lane — 
And I have noted that at certain seasons, 
Particularly in the dead of winter. 
But little green is met with any where; 
Except, indeed, upon Venetian blinds, 
And the dried skins of murdered katy-dids. 
On either side, and in the midst, appeared, 



183 



In proud defiance of marauding swine, 
A goodly growth of Jemson weed and Poke : 
Now, one who had picked up a farthing's worth 
Of learned jargon, would embrace the occasion 
To show his knowledge of outlandish terms 
For common things, and say, that in this lane 
The Phytolacca and stramonium grew ; 
But I, who write for dwellers in the fields, 
Write in the language of the land they live in, 
And therefore write I Jemson weed and Poke. 

O ! it hath smiled me — that is, made me smile, 
When I have seen an honest man endeavour 
To pass himself for more than he was worth 
Of mental treasure — in and out of season 
Larding his flavourless and lean discourse 
With certain words of uncouth, learned length, 
Which, like the parrot, he had got by rote. 

As I did journey in this lane, beneath 
A withered Poke bush I beheld a beast — 
A little beast he was, and had no tail — 
A toad they called him, and he seemed in years — 
An ancient toad, who had seen better days. 
I leaned my back against the fence, and stood 
Under the shade of an old apple tree 
That had been dead for years ; my hose, ungartered, 
Hung ruefully in wrinkles at my ankles ; 
And my slouched hat, my forehead's old companion^ 
Would have flapped mournfully about my ears, 



184 

If there had been a breath of air to fi^p it ; — 
With both hands in my pockets, thus I stood, 
Resembhng much a statue, (not of Greece,) 
And mused upon the toad — and he too seemed 
As he were musing, and that recollections 
Of by-gone ups and downs had moved him ; 
For ever and anon he raised his foot 
And wiped his eye withal. 'Tis Avonderful, 
What curious thoughts, unlooked for, will arise 
Oft in the minds of contemplative men, — 
Men who associate with the sticks, and stones, 
And living tenants of the fields and woods. 
Now, thought I, if this toad would get him up 
And stand erect upon his feet, as I do. 
And, if it liked him, lean against the fence. 
This simple exercise of mere volition, 
To action moving his sonmolent powers. 
Might in the reptile work a glorious change. 
But how, by what intricate combination, 
Obscure or obvious, of involved modes, 
Reader, I leave for thy own cogitation ; 
I do but start a slumbering thought or two, 
And they who like may hunt 'em down for me. 

By this the sun rode high — it might be noon, 
But I did not consult my watch ; my watch 
Is not wound up so often as it might be. 
And might indeed as well remain unwound, 
For it keeps time about as carefully 
As doth a sieve keep water — but no matter j 



185 

The man who stirreth him upon the mountains. 

Or in the valleys, under open sky. 

Needs not the aid of curious instrument 

To warn him how time passes ; no, he beareth 

In his own breast a faithful monitor, 

Which duly indicates the hour of noon : 

Yea, more especially if he should labour. 

And labour by the. day, he is most certain 

To hit the hour of noon before the time ; 

For the delightful intertwined ideas 

Of noon and dinner, in the labourer's mind. 

Like man and wife, are never to be parted. 

And why is this? To say the man is hungry 

Is to say nothing, or at best, no more 

Than that he longs for something unpossessed — 

A common case ; and wherefore lonofeth he ? 

A question this, important and abstruse ; 

But, perad venture, it may be resolved 

In some such way as this : we may behold 

In the outward world no vacuum — all is full 

Of life and matter, multiform and mixed, 

Sentient and senseless — and may hence conclude 

That, in the little world of man, the region 

Called in the pugilists' vocabulary 

Bread basket, (term significant and neat,) 

Escheweth mightily all emptiness. 

And further, v/e may readily perceive, 
Within us and without us, all is motion : 
One spirit of activity pervades 
24 



186 



With pauseless energy all forms of being, 

And analogically may infer 

That the prime agent in the aforesaid basket, 

The gastric fluid, hateth idleness ; 

And finding nothing wherewithal to work, 

Like famished tiger, falls upon its keeper, 

And suffereth not the honest man to rest 

'Till he hath got his dinner ; — I'll get mine. 

Exit. 



187 



SCRAPS; 

OR, A PAGE FROM MY PORT FOLIO. 

Doubtless, we are a great and glorious people, 
Free, moral, wise, religious, and what not ; 
Enjoying heartily, with other comforts. 
Opinions most respectful of ourselves. 

Yes, doubtless, we are great, and every hour 
Becoming greater, like a vast mushroom. 
Towns rise, as if by magic, in the forest. 
And where, of late, a troop of tuneful wolves 
Howled their wild wood-notes to the midnight moon, 
Caper the hopeful youth, and fiddles squeak. 

Our virtuous and enlightened population 
Rolls onward like a deluge, scattering wide, 
With much commendable, unsparing zeal, 
The tawny, two legg'd, and inferior vermin, 
To dens obscure, and deserts far remote. 
To trapper and to squatter yet unknown. 

Yes, doubtless, we're a wise, a moral people. 
Ask ye for proof? and can ye not perceive 
The scent of whiskey float on every gale ? 



188 



Others may boast their floods of milk and honey, 
Ours may be called a whiskey-streaming land. 
As flows life's current through the human frame 
In countless rills meandering, so does whiskey 
Flow through our country; but a copious tide, 
Resembling more a torrent than a rill — 
Marking its troubled and tumultuous course. 
By poverty and crime, disease and death. 
We kill the nations ofi" to get the soil. 
The soil produces grain, the grain the whiskey, 
The whiskey ruin, both to soul and body ; 
And thus we travel the delightful round : 
And modern Solomons, who rule the nation, 
Wisely decline to tax the precious fluid, 
Lest haply they might check the growth of grain, 
And raise a frown upon a voter's brow. 

Yes, doubtless, we're a free, a Christian people, 
Holding this truth to be self-evident. 
That all men are by Heaven created equal, 
Endowed alike with right to liberty. 
Doubt ye the fact ? and have ye ne'er beheld 
Upon our public ways, a group of beings. 
Aye, human beings, with immortal souls, 
Driven to the market, like a flock to slaughter. 
Chained, sold, lashed, mangled, at the sound discretion 
Of worthies, doubtless, of superior nature. 
Because enveloped in a paler skin ; 
The dearest ties the heart can know dissevered, — 
The parent parted from her infant treasure. 



189 

The fainting maiden from her lover torn, 
And doomed to toil and slavery for ever. 

Yes, doubtless, we're a moral, Christian people. 
God hath commanded, thou shalt do no murder ; 
He, at whose bidding all things rose from nothing, 
And, at Avhose frown, would sink again to nought. 
And lo ! forth crawls the important duellist. 
An evanescent worm, a thing of dust, 
And dares his wrath, and tramples on his law. 
The curse of Cain is on him — his right hand, 
His soul, encrimsoned with a brother's blood, 
A friend — a boon companion — one with whom, 
A few short hours before, he had united, 
Perhaps in scenes of folly and of crime : 
What then ? he mingles with congenial Christians, 
Calls himself one, no doubt, and stands prepared 
To enact the self-same Christian part again. 
Will human laws deter him ? Human laws 
Were surely not designed for men of honour : 
A starving wretch, in the pursuit of plunder, 
Commits a murder, and he shall be hanged ; 
Not so your man of honour — he may kill, 
Arrange deliberately his mode of murder, . 
Become an adept by industrious practice, 
And boast of his expertness at the trade ; 
He shall go free — ^he is a man of honour — 
And laws, and those who ought to guard them, sleep. 
O yes, no doubt — we are a Christian people. 



190 



FOR AN ALBUM. 

The industrious bee, from many a varied blossom, 

Amasses treasure of unmingled sweetness ; 

Alike subservient to her chemic power 

The cherished flowret and the slighted weed. 

And, reader, thou, though haply not possessing 

Her quick perception of incipient good, 

Or magic process of amalgamation, 

Mayst gather from this miscellaneous volume 

Some harmless pleasure, — may 6e, something more ; 

For, doubtless, here reposeth many a flower 

Of purest fragrance and unfading bloom. 

But if, unluckily, thou shouldst discover 

Some little inoffensive weed like this, 

Let it not kindle thy severe displeasure ; — 

Remember, rather, what experience teaches — 

That he who cultivates on all occasions 

A disposition to he pleased and please, 

Is much the happiest and the wisest man. 



191 



WOMAN. 

Our ancestor Adam, in Eden's fair bowers, 
With apathy gazed, at the fruits and the flowers ; 
Surrounded with blessings, no pleasure was there — 
He sighed for a bosom those blessings to share ; 
And the charms of creation were deemed little worth, 
'Till woman was sent to imparadise earth. 

She came, in the splendour of grace and of beauty, 
His breast to illume with the radiance of love ; 

She came, in the meekness of kindness and duty, 
His joys to redouble — his pains to remove : 
And he felt, what her presence alone can impart — 
The sunshine of happiness warm at his heart. 



CONTRA. 

Our grandfather Adam, in Eden's fair bowers, 
Beheld with such pleasure the fruits and the flowers, 
'Twas seen he would soon be too fond of his berth — 
So a partner was sent him to wean him from earth. 



192 



LINES, 

Written, extempore, for a child who asked for an " Epitaph on her 
Squirrel." 

Forced early from his native shade. 

And doomed a slave to be, 
Here Bun reposes I — death has made 

The little prisoner free. 

Subjected, from his earliest date. 

To every varying whim — 
And far from parents, friends, and mate — 

Few charms had life for him. 

Ye youthful readers, treat not with neglect 
This slight memorial — but sometimes reflect. 
Ere from its home a nestling you remove. 
What you would suffer, torn from all you love. 



193 



STANZAS. 

Go; take the morning's wings, and rpeed thy flight 
Bevond the reach of thouarht — lo ! He is there : 

Go, wrap thyself in darkness — tenfold night 
Will prove no covering — He is every where : 

In everlasting- blessedness remainins", 

Diffused through all things, and all things sustaining. 

He who, in yonder azure deep of air. 

Bade worlds on worlds in dazzling splendour roll ; 
The abode of myriads, questionless, who share 

The love unbounded of the All-moving Soul, 
Whose bounty stills the infant raven's calls — 
By whom unheeded not a sparrow falls. 

His eye is on thee ! His, by whom was given 
The glorious mission of redeeming love, 

By Jordan's waters, when, from opening heaven, 
On glowing pinion, came the mystic dove. 

His eye is on thee ! which alike pervades 

Virtue's pure path, and guilt's polluted shades. 

And ihey — the dwellers in those blessed places, 
The heavenly mansions — whether near or far 

From us their station in the expanse of space is — 
With cloudless vision view us as we are : 
25 



194 

Man's darkest deed and thouglit, illumined, lies 
In broad exposure to angelic eyes. 

And had not power divine for ever barred, 
To sorrow's entrance, their abode sublime, 

How oft must earth celestial peace have marred, 
And angel bosoms ached for human crime ; 

How often groveling man's insane career, 

From eyes seraphic drawn the burning tear. 

But though divinely shielded from the intrusion 
Of sin's unfailing fruit and follower, wo — 

When the transgressor wakes from guilt's delusion. 
Augmented bliss superior spirits know: 

By Trutft's own lips has been the assurance given, 

O'er such repentant there is joy in heaven. 

Then raise thy head in hope, thou broken-hearted — 
Tossed with tempests, and dismayed with fears ; 

Angels, and spirits of the just departed. 
With love and pity witness all thy tears. 

Thy sighs ascend before the eternal throne, 

And all the conflicts of thy soul are known. 



195 



FOR AN ALBUM. 

Yes, I will try to write — though not aspire 

To hold high converse with th' harmonious Nine ; 

All may not haply from the glowing lyre, 

With heaven-taught fingers, call forth strains divine; 

But all. good-naturedly, in lines like these, 

May show the will, if not the power, to please. 

All hail, good nature ! — more delightful far , 
Thy joys, than all repelHng genius knows ; 

The soft, mild radiance of thy gentle star 

Its happiest colouring o'er hfe's landscape throws : 

Filled with thy spirit each innocuous page 

In youth may charm us, nor offend in age. 

How kindly, in this world of ours, 

Do folk each other scrutinise ! 
Lament their neighbours' lack of powers. 

And view their own with thankful eyes. 

Methinks I see some gracious elf, 

In want of work, or will to do it, 
Take down this volume from the shelf, 

And thus approvingly run through it : 



196 

" This book is not unlike a purse, 
A casket rich with rare contents ; 

Bank notes, than nothin^j Httle "■•, orse, 
Small silver, and a world of cents. 

u ?rp|g very like a pie — a dish 

Composed of fowls of every feather ; 

Red herrings too, and flesh and fish. 
All huddled, heads and points together. 

" For vegetables would you seek ? 

There are a few perhaps worth knowing- 
Some tender mushrooms, young and weak, 

That hardly took a month in growing. 

" And here and there, as a Ye-hicle 

To help along a lagging treat, 
Is seen an inoffensive pickle, 

Lukewarmish — neither sour nor sweet. 

" I would not hastily find fault. 

But truth, the cooks are sorry daubers. 

Their wretched thimbleful of salt. 
Resembles Attic less than Glauber's. 

" Besides, a secret let me tell — 

A truth found out some lucky minute — 
The pie will never relish well, 

That has too many fingers in it." 



197 



MY SPECTACLES. 



WRITTEN IN 1824. 



To a friend who requested a few lines on my getting the said. 

True, I have got me spectacles, and find them 

A prize indeed — they have unfolded to me 

Much that was hidden and involved in gloom, 

Of the fair face of nature, and my views 

Of men and things enlightened and enlarged. 

Perhaps M'Allister hath rarely vended 

Engines more friendly to the eyes and noses 

Of their proprietors, than these to mine. 

But though where'er I turn my glassy eyes, 

" A wide unbounded prospect hes before me," 

In all the beauty of distinctness drest ; 

And though I have discovered that the shadows 

And clouds, that heretofore appeared to veil 

The lovely features of the world around me, 

Existed in my visual orbs alone. 

Yet see I not (just now) that hence it follows. 

That I should shout, into the unwilling ears 

Of every honest man 1 meet, the notions 

Which these same spectacles have brought to light : 

No — at some future, more convenient season. 



198 



I may set forth these matters ; but at present 

It would be carrying (an unthrifty business) 

My hen to market, on a rainy day. 

The obstreperous clamour of industrious people, 

Who manufacture presidents and cotton, 

Hath filled the public ear to overflowing — 

The wild Ephesian uproar of the weavers 

Would drown the tone of sweeter harp than mine ; 

The gentle lisping of my timid muse 

Would scarce be heard amid the deafening roar 

More than the whisper of a sucking dove. 

They say I am short sighted — and perhaps 

I may not see so far into the moon 

As some whose eyes are better, yet methinks 

These weaving brethren are as blind as I am, 

Else would they long ere this have seen and studied 

The ancient history of the dog and shadow. 

Yet I may crack a wee bit of some things, 

And though the worthy items that compose 

That mass of varied excellence, the public, 

Are all, with serious singleness of heart 

And fervency of purpose, following after 

Some cherished idol of their own creation. 

Some fancied present or eventual good — 

Or, to discourse in less inflated language. 

Are minding their own business, and may listen 

To my observes with just as deep attention 

As the deaf adder to the syren's strain. 

It mattereth not — if they refuse to listen, 

The loss is theirs — and there are sundry reasons. 



199 



Why I should talk — attended to, or not — 

As first, tlie importunity of friends ; 

But this is somewhat stale, and on the whole 

Had best be lightly touched on ; and the comfort 

That overspreads the overcharged mind, 

When it hath been disburthened, is no trifle. 

Man hath in general — say minute observers — 

Two eyes, two ears, and but a single tongue ; 

And they infer from this apportionment 

Of their conveniences, that he should utter 

Not more than half of what he sees or hears ; 

A lame and impotent conclusion, this — 

And far less satisfactory than the following : 

That every man may utter, if it likes him, 

As much as both his neighbour's ears can swallow. 

Else should we witness, profitless exposure. 

An empty, idle superflux of ears ; 

And this is, questionless, the sound conclusion 

Adopted in our legislative halls, 

Where, whatsoever the supply of wisdom, 

We rarely find a paucity of words, 

And this is all exactly as it should be. 

Go, take thine ass, and hie thee on from Maine, 
And tack and zigzag well through every corner, 
And hill and dale of this far spreading land, 
To that young Babylon they call Orleans, 
An' speer at ilka mon ye meet withal. 
And doubt not every man will chuckling own 
That there are some few simple folk around him. 



200 



Well, be it so — these simple folk have rights, 

And should be represented — and they are so — 

So that whene'er we find a conscript father, 

Smothering beneath an awful cloud of words, 

A little luckless thimbleful of meaning. 

We may conclude he is a simple member — 

That is, he's one who represents the simple. 

I say that we are wordy, not that I am ; 

We as a people, certainly are tongue^, 

(I like this word,) and how became we so ? 

Because we have been blessed with tonguey mothers. 

" 'Tis education forms the common mind," 

Saith Pope — and early education does so ; 

Much of whatever makes the future man, 

The good or evil that attends his course, 

Is early gathered in maternal arms. 

There, with the love of freedom and of country. 

By precept and example both incited, 

The infant statesman learns the love of — noise ; 

Doomed, from his earliest moment, to the infliction 

Of ceaseless dandling and eternal song. 

And when tormented with incessant din 

He shakes his lacerated ears, and screams. 

To a still bolder and a louder key 

Is swelled the nurse's overwhelming: note. 

Oh ! 'tis delightful, this domestic music ! 

This mingled sweetness breathed from kindred lips ! 

The wailing urchin's pertinacious roar. 

And Job-like mother's everlasting song. 

Who hath not listened to the enlivening sound. 



201 



In the thronged city, or sechided dell ? 
"Just as the twia: is bent, the tree 's inclined." 
('Tis hard to part a couplet long united. 
So having used the first, I quote this line, 
Resolved that, whatsoe'er may chance to follow, 
The ancient pair shall rest upon one sheet.) 
" Just as the twig is bent the tree 's inclined," 
Saith Pope — who treateth here of English twigs. 
Twigs of John Bull, or more correctly, calves. 
Now if this holdeth good of English timber. 
From the cracked, crooked, and valueless condition 
Of various samples cast upon our shores. 
Blocks that lie every way, we may conclude. 
The art and mystery of judicious twigging 
Is little understood, or practised, there. 
Yes, these same straggling bulls, and caltish cattle, 
Incontinently dropping marvellous matter. 
Which tickleth mightily the lengthy ears 
Of many a well-grown kindred calf at home. 
Yahooish, scattering, with abortive malice. 
Dust at a people far beyond their reach ; 
A people marching with a giant's stride, 
To giant empire — in a region, born 
Of grandeur worthy of the free and brave, 
Whose lowliest peasant holds in equal scorn 
The throned despot, and the groveling slave. 
Yet notwithstanding the laborious efforts 
Of many a vile, and would-be poisonous insect 
With noisome buzz, and pointless sting, to keep 
The expiring flame of enmity alive ; 
26 



202 

And maugre all his multifarious failings, 

Deficient wisdom, and abounding pride ; 

I would be neighbourly with ancient John — 

He hath some points about him that I like : 

Yes, thou. Old England ! art a glorious land — 

Nurse of a noble race ! who have upheld 

The torch of Freedom in a darkened world. 

Nurse of a host of worthies, now no more, 

But whose immortal labours shall enlighten 

And charm the minds of millions yet unborn ! 

'Twas from thy verdant fields, o'er trackless seas, 

That gallant band, our virtuous fathers, came. 

Yes, we are kindred, and a kindred faith, 

And kindred laws and language, should induce us 

To form a league, that might indeed be Holy^ 

And have a holy influence on the world. 

But there's a time for all things, Solomon said, 

And Solomon was no fool ; although, perhaps. 

Like some few preachers since his day, his practice 

Did not keep pace precisely with his precept : 

For Solomon found, if chronicles say true. 

Time to do much which might have been omitted. 

There is a time for all things, and, of course, 

A time for dalliance with the Aonian maids. 

And a time, too, to let the maids alone. 

And he who findeth perched upon his shoulders 

A wrinkled forehead, clad in silver hair, 

May well bethink him that the hour hath come 

When he should muse on more important matter 

Than the construction of a lay like this. 



203 



WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 

Reader, go home ! — this may seem homely language, 

But if the advice is good, reject it not. 

Because it comes not in more courtly guise. 

We often find the most salubrious draughts 

Are not the most delightful to the palate ; 

And my advice shall have at least one merit, 

Not over common — that of brevity. 

Go home ! — if idly thou hast wandered thence, 

Consider well what motive drew thee forth ; 

And whether, if with due attention followed. 

The path of duty would not lead thee back : 

And doubt not thou may meet with business there, 

Remembering, what will scarce be controverted, 

If every home were every thing it should be, 

There would be little to be done abroad. 

Reader, go home ! — go home to thy own bosom ! 

Commune with thy own heart ! perhaps a stranger. 

Whose nature it imports thee much to know, 

Where haply thou may'st more or less discover 

To do — undo — to learn — and to forget ! 

And in that all important field of labour, 

None ever yet employed himself too soon. 



204 

But if that home, is every thing it should be, — 
If purity and peace inhabit there, 

Then hope to feel, when on thy dying bed, 
A pitying father's soul-supporting love, — 
Then hope to find, by boundless mercy led, 
A home eternal, in the realms above. 



205 



" But one thing is needful, and Mary hath chosen that good part, which 
shall not be taken away from her." — Luke x. 42. 

One thing is needful — man can never hear 
This truth too often — while afforded breath, 

And life, and being — may the heaviest ear 
Of deafness hear it till destroyed in death. 

One thing is needful — was the assurance given 
By Him who came in mercy from on high. 

And shall man slight intelligence from Heaven — 
A being, sure of nothing, but to die. 

One thing is needful — how will those appear, 
When all earth's baubles are in ruin tost, 

Who know the hour of final judgment near. 
This prize unsought for, or for ever lost. 

One thing is needful — and, compared with this. 
All earth can offer, — all that man may scheme, — 

All human fabrics of sublunar bliss, — 
Are vain, and worthless as an idiot's dream. 

One thing is needful — all that's comprehended 
In these few words — eternal weal or wo, 

Soon, when some short, fast fleeting years are ended, 
In joy or anguish, every soul shall know. 



206 



TO J. AND H. C. B., 

ABOUT TO EMBARK FOR ENGLAND, AFTER A RELIGIOUS 
VISIT TO THIS COUNTRY. 

Ye are traveling homeward, — home imparts 
Joy in itself; but to your hearts 

A purer Miss is doubtless known : 
The peace by full obedience won — 
That peace which flows from duty done, 

And from that source alone. 

Remote from your green island home, 
Your lot has led yiu far to roam 

In regions rude, and wild, and vast. 
Where many a fruitless fig tree grows ; 

Yet here, perhaps, may bloom at last. 
In living beauty, Sharon's rose. 

But ye 're bound homeward — and possess. 
No doubt, the blessed consciousness 

Of having done what in you lay 
To work His will who sent you here — 
And therefore need nought else to cheer 

Your progress on your homeward way. 



207 

Then, fare ye well ! — may He, who guides 
The petrel o'er the heaving tides, 

Your bark securely keep 
Safe in his favour — though the storm 
May rage around, and winds deform 

Your pathway on the deep. 



208 



" Be thou my strong rock for an house of defence to save me ; for thou 
art my rock and my fortress," — Psalm xxxi. 2, 3. 

"A man shall be as an hiding place from the winds, and a covert from 
the tempest — as rivers of waters in a dry place — as the shadow of a great 
rock in a weary land." — Isaiau xxxii. 2. 

" The name of the Lord is a strong tower ; the righteous runneth into 
it, and is safe." — Rev. xviii. 10. 



To living waters in a thirsty sand — 

A tower of strength to which the righteous flee- 
A rock's vast shadow in a weary land, — 

To these fond man hath loved to liken Thee, 
Fountain of light and life ! — but, oh ! how weak, 
How feeble language, when of Thee we speak. 

Yet Thou, whom highest heaven cannot contain — 
Who fillest all things, (oh, consoling trust !) 

Though throned in blessedness, wilt not disdain 
The simple oiFering of a child of dust — 

The broken accents of adoring love — 

When the full heart impels the tongue to move. 

A strong tower, Thou ! to which the righteous flee. 
And find that safety Thou alone canst give ; 

But, Heavenly Father ! to that tower, to Thee, 
The sorrowing sinner, too, may fly and live — 



209 

The bruised reed that heaUng shadow share, 
And living water ever flowing there. 

When the transgressor, who had wandered far 
O'er the wild waste, the land of sin and shame, 

Rejjentant turned— did aught his progress bar 
To that dear, holy home from whence he came ? 

Did frowns repelling bid the wretch depart I — 

Did cold endurance chill his breaking heart ? 

Ah ! no —while yet far ofl' he feebly strove, 

With tottering steps, to take his homeward way, 

The observant glances of paternal love, 

With smiles of welcome, hailed the weak essay— 

With mercy met him, and his soul's alarms 

Were all forgotten in a father's arms. 

O ! happy he, who, in that awful hour 

When earth must vanish from his closing eye, 

Feels full assurance of that IdVe whose power 
For the freed soul can happier worlds supply! 

To him, resigned to all thou mayst ordain. 

To live is pleasure, and to die is gain. 

And without this, can aught terrestrial merit 
The name of solace for the immortal mind? 

That emanation of the eternal spirit. 

From heaven descended, and for heaven designed. 

What 's man's experience but corroding care? — 

In life delusiojj, and in death despau? 
27 



210 



FLOWERS. 

" Consider the lilies of the field." — Mat. vj. 28. 

Ye beauteous things, I love to stray 
Among ye in your verdant beds, 

And see ye shake the dews away. 
As joyous wave your briUiant heads. 

I call ye joyous — for I hold 

That ye are joyous, — that ye feel 

Delight in living — that the mould 
Affords ye many a savoury meal. 

The voice of music birds employ 
To speak the full heart's happiness. 

But, in your case, exuberant joy 

Bursts forth perhaps in pomp of dress. 

Yes — clad in beauty's hveliest robe, 
To every eye enjoyment giving, 

And scattering fragrance round the globe. 
Ye doubtless feel delight in living. 



211 

'Twas said by one* that ye have wasted, 
Unseen, your sweets on desert air, 

Because, alas ! by man un tasted — 

Though bird, beast, insect, might be there. 

O, modest and profound decision ! 

That man alone your worth observes; 
As thouofh nouo-ht else was blest with vision, 

Or system of olfactory nerves. 

Pray, how knew he that all man misses 

Is wasted on the desert air? — 
Or, that the bee-like bird, that kisses 

The blossom, sees no beauty there? 

But there 's no desert — air and earth 
With hum of sentient being rings ; 

The spot that gives a flowret birth 
Is quickly fanned by insect wings. 

Yes, beauteous things, I love to stray 
Among ye in your verdant bed — 

To mark your Heaven-ordained array, 
And breathe the sweetness round ye spread; 



Gray's Elegy : — 

" Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air." 



212 

And olt, among ye when I wander, 

Will serious thought expand her wings, 

And, taught by you, my spirit ponder 
On higher and on holier things. 

Proofs of our Heavenly Father's love. 
Who clad ye in a garb so fair ; 

Ye bid me hope I too may prove 
An object of his guardian care — 

Ye bid me hope that He who wrought 
Such glorious robes for fading grass, 

Will not cast off, if humbly sought, 
His creature of a nobler class. 

And as at spring's awakening breath 
Ye glow in new-born radiant dyes, 

So from the wintry sleep of death 
Ye bid me hope that I may rise. 



213 



LOCOMOTIVES. 

Hurrah! hurrah! away we go 

Without a spur or goad — 
Our iron coursers snort and blow 

Along an iron road. 

Your noblest steeds of flesh and blood 
Are soon with toil o'erdone, 

But wheels impelled by fire and flood 
For ever may roll on. 

No load, nor length of way, fatigues 
Our wild, unshimbering team ; 

A jaunt of a hundred thousand leagues 
Ts baby play for steam. 

The hills may lift their foreheads high, 
The rivers oppose in vain — 

Our smoky motives soon shall fly 
From Mexico to Maine. 

Then farewell to domestic jars. 
All nullying nonsense done — 

An endless chain of railroad cars 
Will bind us all in one. 



214 

The goodly dames of former days 
Were doomed at home to stay, 

Or jog o'er dislocating ways 
A dozen miles a day. 

Affairs of moment only led 
Their steps of course to roam, 

And comfort too, was born and bred, 
They might suppose, at home. 

But now a feather has force enough 

To send our damsels forth, 
For a yard of bobbin, or thimble of snuff. 

To the east, west, south or north. 

We all are hurrying to and fro, 

Aye worrying here and there. 
But where we go, or why we go, 

We hardly know or care. 

The western ploughboy hastes to hear 

Atlantic billows roar — 
And yankee sailors try to steer 

The Pawnee prairies o'er. 

The southron sweep comes in from work, 
" Where 's Mrs. Soot?" says he— 

" She 's gone for a moment to New York, 
But will be home to tea." 



215 

" O well," says Darky. " then I'll go, 
As the cars are whirling by — 

For a mouthful of Boston air or so. 
And a bite of pumpkin pie." 

Could our forefathers quit their shrouds, 
How would the good folks stare, 

To see their sons, in countless crowds. 
Driven on by heated air. 

To see the stately steamboat glide, 

Encumbered by no sail ; 
Regardless of the opposing tide, 

The fair or adverse gale. 

Yet boast we not — the power of mind. 

Must onward, onward, go. 
Our sons will stare in turn to find 

How little is all we know. 

But off! — hurrah ! away we rattle, 
On the wings of the red-hot wind. 

And scare the fish, and kill the cattle, 
And leave all care behind. 



216 



SCRAPS FROM MY PORT FOLIO. 

Thomson's Hymn, at the conclusion of his poem of the 
Seasons, is a popular production, much read by the young, 
and famiUar to most readers. It was formerly a favourite 
with me, but of late, has not pleased me so well ; much of 
it I think might have been advantageously omitted, and 
for aught that appears, it might have been written before 
the Christian dispensation had been heard of; and although 
this is a subject of too sacred and awful a nature, perhaps, 
to be much dwelt upon in a poetical way, yet in a work 
professing to celebrate the goodness of the Divine Being, 
to omit all allusion to the most signal instance thereof 
seems rather amiss. The following lines were occasioned 
by a late perusal of it. 

But can I muse in silence ? Can a being 
Though fallen, and unworthy, and encompassed 
With evil, self-induced, but yet the object, 
Almighty Father ! of thy care and love, 
Endowed by thee with a retiecting mind, 
And power to utter what that mind conceives — 
Can he muse on thy goodness, and be mute ? 

Though glorious thy creation — this fair world, 
And countless worlds aroiujd, arrayed in beauty, 



217 



Harmoniously their several tracks pursuing 

Through regions of unmeasured space, evincing 

Infinite wisdom and Almighty power ; 

So great and glorious all ! that well might David, 

When pondering their immensity, and feeling 

The utter nothingness of man, exclaim. 

Lord ! what is he, that thou art mindful of him ; 

The son of man, that thou shouldst visit him ? 

And though thy throne, high o'er the heaven of heavens, 

In glory inconceivable, be placed. 

Yet art thou mindful of the poor in spirit — 

The contrite one that trembleth at thy word. 

And these stupendous monuments of power. 
Walking in brightness, shall decay and vanish ; 
For matter, howsoe'er sublime in form. 
Must yield obedience to the laws of nature. 
By thee ordained, and be dissolved and perish. 

Not so the spirit thou hast breathed in man ! 
The undying principle of life — the power 
Through endless ages to enjoy or suffer 
The immortality which thou hast given — 
Is of more value than a thousand worlds ; 
Yea, infinitely precious in thy sight ! 
So infinitely precious as to lead thee, 
Even Thoe, the Eternal One ! from realms of light, 
To assume the nature of thy poor, lost creature ; 
Descend to walk on earth — a man of sorrows — 
28 



218 

And die, to rescue from eternal ruin 

The guilty hopeless being thou hadst made. 

Yes, I must muse in silence ;— vain are words 
There is no power in language to express 
The deep emotion of the adoring spirit, 
When contemplating such unbounded love ! 



219 



[The following fragment — apparently the commencement of a subject to 
be filled up — was found in the pocket-book of the author after his decease, 
and is believed to be the last he ever wrote.] 

A friendless stranger on the bleak world thrown, 
Has stern misfortune marked thee for her own, 
Has falsehood fixed dishonour on thy name, 
Does hopeless anguish rack thy wasted frame, 
Has Death's dark angel his sad visit paid, 
Has thy heart's treasure low in earth been laid ; 
Ah! then how drear the cheerless world appears — 
A desert shrouded in a mist of tears ; — 
Then, hapless mourner, will thy soul incline 
To wish the pinions of the dove were thine, 
To wing thy way to some far distant shore, 
Where sin and sorrow shall disturb no more. 



221 



LINES 

SUGGESTED BY A RECENT VISIT TO "HICKORY GROVE." 

Fair home of my fathers ! — in seasons long past, 

Generations successive have tilled ; 
Their honoured remembrance a halo has cast 

Round the garden, the grove, and the field. 

Yet fond recollection retraces the hours 

When the swing and the ride could delight — 

When the delicate cream, and the fruits, and the flowers, 
And the arbours, and walks, could invite. 

Here opened the record on history's page, 

Which the annals of Jersey supplied ; 
Here the patriot enlightened, the statesman, and sage, 

And the muses, have loved to reside. 

Majestic the hickories yet may remain. 
To mark the long years they have stood, 

The loveliest verdure embellish the plain. 
And autumn's bright colours the wood; 



222 

The maple may blossom, the willow wave still. 
And the locust breathe out its perfume — 

The robin the grove may with melody fill, 
And the garden in beauty may bloom ; 

But never again shall the rill or the lawn 

Its charm to the landscape restore — 
O'er the loved and lamented Earth's mantle is drawn, 

And their places shall know them no more. 

Fair home of my fathers ! for ever adieu. 

The scenes, as in youth, that I love ; 
Inscribed on my heart be the changes I view 

In the history of Hickory Grove. 



THE END. 



